


A Curse for Loyalty

by THHuxley



Series: A Curse for Loyalty [1]
Category: Erebus - Michael Palin, The Terror (TV 2018), The Terror - Dan Simmons
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alcohol Withdrawal, Antarctica, Astronomy, Cannon compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Crozier's fatherly vibes, Depression, Drug/Substance Abuse, Franklin Expedition, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Irving and Little being protective over Jopson, Jopson and his little brother, Missing Scenes, Period Typical Attitudes, Poaching, Pre-Canon, References to voyage of the Beagle, Romantic healing, Ross Expedition, Thomas Jopson-centric, Unresolved Tension, Wholesome, a hint of corzier/ross, dark!jopson, domestic scenes in Victorian London where life kind of sucked, epistemophilia/Love of knowledge, leadpoisoning, minor ocs in the scenes set in england, suicide pacts mentioned, victorian men having tea parties and being cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-20
Updated: 2020-05-29
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:20:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 75,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23233891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/THHuxley/pseuds/THHuxley
Summary: A series of fan-written cannon compliant scenes expanding Thomas Jopson’s backstory and in-story arc.
Relationships: Captain Francis Crozier & Thomas Jopson
Series: A Curse for Loyalty [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2178285
Comments: 20
Kudos: 34





	1. Stargazing

**Author's Note:**

> This idea stemmed from a discussion with my sister about how a range of characters arcs could be expanded for the purpose of making a The Terror computer game where you can play as different characters. Turns out I'm not the best at writing action scenes, I prefer writing eccentric conversations between characters, but I liked the idea of if you were to play Jopson's arc you would start off with a mission in the South Pole and then a mission where you go poaching with your brother.

Mr Jopson tried to move as quickly as possible along the HMS Terror’s icey deck. 

In the dark It was difficult to see where to step, he could not see his feet, but he was familiar enough with the ship now to remember where he might trip over and avoid it. 

He felt as if his swift, skidding bootsteps were upon the scales of a great black serpent’s back. 

His pocket watch had told him it was four o’clock in the morning. He had left that on his bed, so no ticking came from the inside pocket of his thick, dark blue coat, to alert the other Seamen of his presence. He was not meant to be on deck most nights. That was the fun of it. 

The wind and rain were brazen, but ebbing in ferocity for now. The remote bastion of timbers rocked and creaked under the pressure of the pelagic realm. 

He leaned over the cold, slippery wood and got a good glimpse of the ship's waist hitting the black ocean. On the water’s surface lily pads of ice drifted aside for the vessel like warping stars distorting through a wine glass. 

The HMS Erebus was several miles ahead; a dark galleon dotted with small roses of light, silhouetted against the multicolored solar winds. 

Sergeant Cunningham was standing watch and carrying an orange lantern, by the light he caught a glimpse of Jopson's black outline leaning over the starboard bow. 

"Who goes there!?" asked the Sergeant, half spooked by the nameless shadow, wondering if it may be one of his fellow dog-watch-men. 

Jopson stealthily slipped back into the darkness. 

Cunningham called out to him again and pursued him. But Jopson had slunk back down the fox hole and into the steward’s quarters more mysteriously than a bat swooping for insects in the night. 

He put his hand over his mouth and leaned stiffly against the lockless door. He desperately wanted to laugh and catch his breath but knew he would be heard. His racing heart quickly calmed when he thought about what would happen if he were caught being so bothersome and nocturnal. That turned his blood from hot to cold. At best he would be thought strange. There was no room on any such fine ship for pranking the men on watch duty that one was a phantom. Nor was there room for men who did not speak when spoken to and walked into places they should not. 

By now Jopson knew this early morning habit had induced some rumors of a ghost aboard. This was great entertainment. 

He went back to lie in bed until six O’clock in the morning, when his duties would begin. He thought for a long time. He thought he should find a polite way of asking Captain Crozier to allow him to go hunting. He thought that may stifle his boredom and then he may be less inclined to provoke the men on watch to chase him in the dark. He enjoyed his appointed tasks of preparing menus, reporting gossip, cleaning and caring for the Captain and his quarters also. However, he performed duties so efficiently that he had time to spare and entertain himself. 

He chuckled at the thought of becoming something of a disgruntled housewife. 

“Wait a moment, Captain, the heel of your boot is coming loose.” Thomas observed, kneeling very low in front of Crozier in order to more thoroughly observe his boots. “You’ll have a nasty fall if that isn’t repaired immediately.” 

“The humidity of this place dissolves the fix. I do hope you’re not going to put your face on the floor to look at them, I’ll take them off.” Captain Crozier murmured drowsily. 

“I’ll take them off sir.” Jopson insisted brightly. 

“I don’t have spare ones. Will you be able to fix them quickly?” 

“We have a cobblers kit, sir. I’ll reinforce both of them. You should just sit and have your breakfast now. I’ll have them fixed before you know it, Captain.” By the end of his sentence Jopson was stood upright with an elegant posture, holding both boots against his chest. 

Crozier pinched the bridge to his nose and grumbled huskily, “I could really do with a smoke but it’s been an icy gale blowing us south ever since we left Campbell Island and I don’t want to go up on deck and get pelted.” 

Jopson smiled sweetly at him and said, “Captain, surely a sailor is not to be avoidant of water.” 

“I don’t want to get bombarded by hailstones unless it’s to perform my duties!” Crozier excused himself angrily. 

The gale was audibly battering and straining the windows of the great cabin. 

The Antarctic nights were growing shorter as the two ships approached farthest south. Yet the thunderstorm dulled that persistent light immensely, creating the illusion of night. 

“Do you think I could smoke in here, Jopson?” Crozier asked, his eyes following as Jopson moved to get the cobbler's kit from one of the lower cabinets. 

“I won’t allow it sir, fire hazard.” Jopson replied firmly, 

“You do enjoy exercising your authority where you can, don’t you?” Crozier asked, amused. 

Jopson sat on a chair and put one of the boots over his lap to begin reinforcing it with shoe nails, aided by a small hammer. Hesitating to begin, he looked up at Crozier with an intense, lunar-green stare and avowed; 

“I will always obey you, sir.” 

Crozier paused, then nodded at him, “Only when I’m reasonable, son.” he said softly. The Captain then turned his attention to some papers on his desk, astronomical studies. Jopson watched Crozier for a moment before getting back to his own work. 

“You rearranged these alphabetically? You didn’t need to do that.” Crozier observed. 

“Your breakfast, sir. It’ll go cold.” Jopson reminded. 

Jopson had just finished cleaning up after Crozier’s breakfast and was taking the empty cutlery back to the kitchen on a silver tray. In the main walkway he was affronted both by a bone chilling coolness in the air and by the strong arm of Mr Blanky. 

The old Mate grunted at Jopson and gestured for him to halt instead of requesting to talk like a more polite and gentlemanly officer would have done. 

“Mr Blanky?” Jopson questioned expectantly and smiled up at him. 

“Are you getting enough sleep? You keep running around the quarter deck at night and spooking Sergeant Cunningham.” Blanky confronted. “What are you playing at lad?” 

“I suppose I needed an outlet for the part of myself I’ve tucked away behind my exterior of servility, sir?” 

Blanky looked at Jopson ponderously, “Humph, I suppose you did. But put an end to it now. You can surely find an outlet that’s more constructive. Follow the rules in regards to where you are at what time of day and how much sleep you get, they were made for your benefit.” 

Jopson nodded happily, “It won't happen again, sir.” 

Blanky’s eyes shifted to look behind himself and then he said in a quieter voice, “If you were attacked or abused while you were in a part of the ship you were not supposed to be, you would only have yourself to blame.” 

“Attacked or Abused? Anyone in particular for me to be cautious of, sir?” 

"Just get more sleep, lad.” Blanky insisted and patted Jopson’s shoulder firmly before carrying on past him. 

* * * 

Jopson looked up from his sewing and out of the windows of the Great Cabin as the storm cleared. The black clouds rolled back behind the jagged ice mountains of the Antarctic coast. Golden sunbeams shot upwards and fanned across a now gentle blue sky. Swarms of penguins were in view, lined up like soldiers along the ice ridges and bergs. A whale swam near and sprayed water up at a great swarm of seabirds. 

“Sir James Clark Ross requests a private tea with Captain Crozier in the great cabin tonight.” Informed the voice of Terror’s Second master, John Davis, who was stood in the cabin doorway. 

Jopson looked up from his sowing and nodded, “I’ll prepare for them right away, Mr Davis. The oysters require eating before they spoil. I know captain Crozier isn’t fond of them but at least Sir James is. And the Antarctic circle is no place to be a picky eater.” 

“Very Good, Jopson.” said Mr Davis before leaving. 

"Oh James! Please stop that! I’m afraid you’ll break my dip circle!” Crozier requested nervously and put his hands over Sir James Clark Ross’s. 

The younger Captain was playing with the brass contraption’s diles. 

“It’s a useless bit of kit anyway, Francis, you know they don’t really work.” James said with a smile but allowed Francis to take it from him and put it back on the shelf. 

Jopson was laying the table for them. He couldn’t help but role his eyes at how the two captains became giddy when in each other's presence. 

“Thanks for letting me mess with you in private.” James beamed. 

“I was very honored.” Francis replied happily. 

“Do take your seats now, Captains. Dinner is ready.” Jopson asserted and moved to stand with his back to the wall. 

“Thank you, Jopson.” said Captain Crozier and he and James sat down opposite each other at the table. 

“Would you like for me to give you two some privacy, sirs?” 

Both Captains started to laugh. “Nonsense! We need you to pour us drinks, Jopson!” Ross insisted. 

“And to save us if one of us chokes on this awful food!” Crozier exclaimed. 

“Don't tell me you had something better to do?” Ross questioned. 

“No sir.” Jopson replied. 

“I should think not, Francis already told me your chief entertainment is eavesdropping.” Ross scoffed. 

“That’s not the kindest way of putting it, James. He's just a very good steward.” Francis defended lightly. 

Crozier looked at Jopson and saw that he was blushing beyond his natural, rosy complexion. 

“I do need you here, Jopson.” Crozier assured. 

Sir James reclaimed Francis’s attention at once, “I wanted to tell you, old man, about how some of my officers are faring.” James paused to take a sip of whisky. “The men on Erebus are in high spirits. We've sailed straight into pack ice, and everyone before us was sure this was certain death but we’ve survived.” 

“Aye, but we’re not through the worst of it yet, James.” warned Francis. 

“ I know. I myself would like to focus on the sciences and the practicals of this expedition. Which is why I wanted to consult you. You are the only person on this voyage as scientifically minded as myself.” James proclaimed confidently. 

Francis blushed and couldn’t hold back a smile. “What about Surgeon Robert McCormick?” 

“Robert is really enthusiastic about how far we’ve come. His spirit is all heroics and high emotions. I want to make sure caution stays with us, we mustn't fall prey to hubris.” 

Crozier nodded and hummed in agreement, “Aye, nature is a merciless mistress.” 

Ross started rummaging through his inside coat pocket and Crozier gave him a quizzical look. James took out a few small, strange trinkets before he retrieved what he’d intended. 

“Sir James, please don’t clutter the table like that during a meal.” Jopson requested. He was ignored. 

Ross presented Crozier with a tiny plant encased in a glass dome. “Myosotis capitata. A species of forget-me-not native to the Campbell and Auckland Islands. It’s one of the specimens which Dalton Hooker and I collected." Ross informed Crozier. 

Jopson leaned forward slightly in hopes of seeing the plant, but he was still too distant. 

Crozier accepted the offering from Ross and looked it over. He tried to appear interested, but botany was not his chief subject of interest. 

“Not very similar to the forget-me-nots I’m used to... funny how plants have relatives so far away from each other.” 

This remark made Ross laugh lightly. 

“May I see it sir?” Jopson requested softly. 

Ross was pleased by Jopson’s request and gestured for Francis to let the steward hold it. The lad took a step closer. He held the plant delicately in his hands and saw that it had very small, purple flowers. 

Ross silently offered Jopson a small magnifying glass, for which the young steward thanked him humbly. 

"There’s a very fine yellow pattern in the flowers. Do you see it?” asked Ross. 

“It’s beautiful. Would it take to English soil, sir?” asked Jopson. 

“Hooker doesn't think so. But we shall see.” 

At this time of year the Antarctic sky turns dark only for a moment. 

Crozier was determined to get up for an hour every midnight to stargaze. 

He saw Jopson approaching him slowly and silently. 

“You weren’t sleepy either?” Crozier asked. Silver swirls of tobacco smoke puffed from his clay pipe. 

“Came to check up on you, Captain.” said Jopson, shivering, for the cold prickled him through the many layers of clothes he weighed himself down with. He came to stand next to Crozier and look at the stars with him. 

“I saw you reading my astronomical studies when you were cleaning my desk. Does it fascinate you?” Crozier asked in a whisper. 

“Sorry sir, my knowledge of stars is very basic and dwarfed by your own. I’ve picked up a few things from glimpsing your papers though. I can name the planets and a few constellations.” Jopson paused and pointed at the largest of the blazing spheres of light in view. “What star is that, Captain? I’ve never seen one so large.” 

Crozier laughed under his breath; the question was revealing of Jopson’s lack of knowledge. “That’s not a star, that's the planet Jupiter.” 

“That’s amazing, sir.” Jopson gasped, captivated by the orb. 

“Jupiter was the chief god of the Romans.” said Crozier. 

“I forget the roman gods and what they represented sometimes...” Jopson ended his sentence with a nervous fidget, and a wavering in his voice; he always did this when he was unsure if he was being too informal with his captain. 

“Why did you trail off?” Crozier asked, some worry in his voice. 

“Erm... I know Neptune was the god of the sea. Sailors are always talking about him.” Jopson continued. 

They looked at the sky quietly for a moment. 

The silence was broken when Jopson asked Crozier shyly, “S-sir? May I learn some things from you? I’d like that very much.” 

Crozier gave him a curious look. Jopson continued, trying to be as formal as he could but still very desperate for the fulfilment of his request; “I... am new to this mysterious science but I am fascinated by it and I would like to know what we are looking at. If you may... grant me that kindness, please.” 

Crozier gave Jopson a serious look accompanied by a long pause. The older man closed his eyes, blew some smoke out from his nose and gave a thoughtful hum. 

“Do you know that if a man of your rank on a ship like this gets too clever, he’s considered a deadly threat by his superiors? There’s nothing more dangerous to a captain than a smart underling.” 

“Sir I...?” Jopson looked at first like he might make a counter point, but he quickly stopped himself and lowered his head. “Sorry. I’m sorry I asked you. It was not my place.” He apologised and took a step away from Crozier. “Do you have any menial tasks you would like me to complete while I leave you to your stargazing, sir?” 

Crozier gave Jopson an assessing look. 

The Captain lifted his hand and brought his stewards attention to a colourful cloud of distant stars that arched conspicuously across the sky. “That’s called the Milkyway.” said Captain crozier. “It’s speculated to be a great ring of stars which our own sun may also be a part of.” 

“Our sun is a star? I didn’t know that!” Jopson exclaimed. This was quite contrary to what he’d learnt from the church. 

“Did you know the other names for our sun are Solar and Helios?” Crozier asked, Jopson shook his head, staring at Crozier, wide eyed. 

The Captain moved his hand swiftly to point at two bright stars to their left, “That is Alpha Centauri and Beta Centauri, in the constellation Centaurus.” Crozier’s finger moved to a darker part of the sky, “They point the way to the Southern Cross and the dark nebula known as the Coal sack. If you ever find yourself marooned on a boat without a more knowledgeable officer, you can use that for some semblance of navigation.” 

Crozier was speaking quickly and with a mild frustration in his tone, as if he were expecting to baffle Jopson by the listing of the sky’s contents. He wanted to show the lad that the scope of his request was too big for his own comprehension. 

“That light blue smudge is called a Magellanic cloud. Being able to see it without a telescope and observatory means it’s an exceptionally large one.” Crozier finished. He placed his hands on his hips and looked at Jopson, expecting him to be confused. “I expect I lost you at the Greek word ‘Alpha.’” Crozier said. 

“Alpha means stronger right?” 

“Alpha and Beater are just Greek for ‘A’ and ‘B’, but it can mean first and second or stronger and weaker. 

Jopson pointed at the two stars. “Alpha and Beater centauri lead to the Southern Cross which points south and that’s what I’ll need if I get lost and can’t find the North Star.” said Jopson, trying to prove he had understood Crozier. 

“The North Star is only visible in the Northern Hemisphere and the Southern Cross is only visible in the Southern Hemisphere.” 

“Yes sir. I’ll remember that. And I’ll try to remember the Greek words too... I know all the Lieutenants have to know some basic Greek and Latin words...” 

Crozier snapped at him impatiently and startled him, “What good is it to you Thomas Jopson?! A petti officer will never become a Lieutenant. No one as low bred as you will ever be socially accepted among their ranks!” 

Jopson looked very sadly at Crozier. “Sir, I seek only to help you the best I can. And I think, this knowledge will help me be a better servant to you.” Jopson sounded as if he were holding back a great melancholy now. 

Those tones conjured the stabbing pains of guilt in Crozier’s chest and he choked, “I say this only to protect you, lad. I wish I could feed your curiosity but if you do take that path you must not bind yourself to the navy. Not someone like you. Social isolation is the primary cause of suicide amongst naval officers. To fall out of favour and understanding with your peers on a ship is the second deadliest kraken a man may be ensnared by! The first most deadly, is having knowledge beyond what your station requires.” Crozier tried to reason. 

“Would you... regard me as dangerous if I educated myself?” Jopson asked, trembling. 

Crozier stepped closer to him and put a firm hand on Jopson’s shoulder. “I trust you. And I know you have a mind that yearns to be filled with knowledge. I’ve seen how happy this makes you and it breaks my heart to see you stuck in perpetual servility for eternity. That is a place where I am now trapped also. I am regarded by my superiors as a man only suited to be a second. My knowledge means nothing to them, even though it could help them.” 

“It means something to Sir James. He respects you for it.” Jopson pointed out. 

“Aye, he is the only man above me who does... Do you ever wonder whose respect you have?” 

“Nobody’s sir.” Jopson answered quickly and earnestly. 

Crozier raised his eyebrows. 

“I don’t need someone else's respect to feel good about myself." Jopson said with a smile. 

Crozier blinked in astonishment. 

“My sincerest apologies for disturbing you Captain.” He said in a polite, calming voice. “Thank you very much for your brief attentions. I’m happy to be dismissed to my bed now if you will?” 

“Er... yes...” Crozier fumbled. “You may be dismissed now... Mr Jopson. Sleep well.” 

Jopson’s grin widened and he left slowly, his light footsteps inaudible as if muffled by snow. 

Crozier watched Jopson crawl below. Then looked at the stars again. His pipe was out and needed more tobacco and to be relit. 

Crozier noticed a grey, human shape hovering up the mast. He looked up and saw Mr Blanky was sat in the riggings above him, looking down at him with a bemused expression. 

“You want to shelter him from all the horrors of the world. How very paternal.” Mr Blanky scoffed and rolled his eyes. 

“You heard that whole thing, did you?” Crozier asked, calling up to him. 

Blanky grabbed a rope and swung down to place his feet on the deck with an experienced grace. 

“You’ve sparked his interest now.” Blanky warned. “You can refuse to Educate him, but you can’t very well stop him from educating himself. There's plenty of books on Greek and Stars in the ship’s library.” 

Crozier shook his head and said, “... He’s very devoted to his duties and often works overtime. He’ll barely have time. And his mind... I think... is always working at full capacity, there’ll be no room left for classics and astronomy.” 

Blanky stifled a disappointed laugh. “I’ll bet you ten quid, the next time you see him he’ll have a book on it under his arm, Francis.” 

“That’s a bet I’ll surely loose.” Crozier admitted. “He might try for a couple of days, to read boring books about things beyond his comprehension, but I do think he’ll give up quickly. The lad never even attended elementary school. I’ve been studying astronomy since I was eight years old. My father’s friend, Francis Rawdon-Hastings, 2nd Earl of Moira, for whom I was named after, used to let us use his observatory. ” 

“Were you going to tell the boy that you respected him just now, Francis? Did you think that would satisfy him?” 

“I know, Thomas. I know it wouldn’t have done he or I any good. I should think it’s fine for a Captain and his Stewart to be familiar, but we have to stay professional all the same.” 

Blanky shrugged. “Well, look at you and me Francis. It’s our friendship that keeps us going. The articles say a Captain must not get overly familiar with his subordinates because it’s bad for discipline, but we’ve known each other since we were ship’s boys, so we never could help it. It’s no bad thing to have a friend. You especially, being the lonely old man whom you’re turning out to be...” 

Crozier gave a heavy, frustrated sigh at that. 

“... I think you could use a clever young man like Jopson just to keep you in touch with the world. If things go as hopeful hearts predict, he’s someone who’ll outlive and remember you.” Blanky reasoned. 

Crozier looked at Blanky, his lips curled into an amused smile and he shook his head, “You’re clairvoyant.”


	2. Poaching

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Based on a few things Jopson said in the TV series I constructed a chapter based on his domestic life when he get's back from furthest south. I did some pretty meticulous research, even looked at the weather records. When Jopson said "Everything we ate growing up started with a gun" I was like, well he must have poached then, which was illegal, cause if you were that poor you wouldn't be able to hunt legally. So he just admitted to Hickey about being criminal? This actually provides an explanation for Jopson's coolness in life and death situations and his ability to bark orders even though he has no experience in battle like many other less effectual characters. He's basically been in survival mode since he was a baby. I based his younger brother on the kid from Road to Perdition.

On September the 4th, 1843, Erebus and Terror returned to England. When they docked in the Themes it was noon and raining heavily. For England, 1843 was within a short sequence of humid years, of warm winters, excessive rain and new railways. 

After accurately predicting the unsatisfactory nature of his formal goodbye to Captain Crozier, Thomas Jopson had left his tobacco rations and a farewell letter thanking Crozier for his guidance and for the promotion to Captain’s Steward on their Journey to the Antarctic. 

Jopson collected his pay slip and finally found his feet on solid ground again. 

London was shrouded in its black fog of industrial pollution. To a sailor returning to the metropolis after four years away, it was like breathing through an exhaust pipe. 

It was a nearly fifty minutes’ walk from the Thames river to Marylebone, west London. As he walked down the wet cobble streets that sloped down towards his family’s house, with an almost empty ship’s sack slung over his shoulder and holding his heavy cold weather coat over his head for dryness, it came into view that the bottom of the street where his destination lay was flooded. 

He was finally off the sea but alas there was no escape from water, he was about to be wetter than he had been since his accident. 

He waded through murky, knee high liquid and thumped the dusky wood of the door to his old house. Returning to the place he was born and spent most of his life before the strange years at sea was a surreal experience. Now he approached everything with a joyful calmness, for he expected he would soon wake from this nostalgic dream. 

The toxic rain and dung-filled floods would not get him down, for he was going to see his family again soon and his pockets were filled with money. 

A boy of twelve opened the door slowly and peaked out with light green-blue eyes that matched Jopson’s. The Younger lad had ebony hair also, but it was not well kept like Jopson’s silky locks. The child’s face was bruised and dirty. 

The two brothers looked at each other curiously for a moment and said nothing. They recognised each other, but where surprised to see what had become of each other. 

The elder lad broke the silence, “Timothy… it’s been a long time.” 

The younger’s shy, confused expression slowly turned into a warm grin, accompanied by a quiet laugh. 

Thomas lowered himself slightly to give his younger brother a hug and Timothy returned it. 

“Thomas… you’re back.” 

The downstairs of the house was flooded. 

Jopson hung his dripping winter coat on a nail sticking out of the wall near the front door and looked at his brother again. There were no lamps in the downstairs, but in the dim haze Thomas could see the boy was not just dirty and bruised on his face, it was all over, his clothes where badly patched up and his hair was matted. 

“I’ll run us a bath.” Timothy announced as he weaved ahead of Thomas, through the floating furniture. He followed his younger brother into the kitchen. The water was shallower there. 

“Thank you very much.” Was all Thomas could manage, he was taken aback. He lifted the front of his shirt over his nose to smell it and realised he did wreak of sweat and sea salt. It was tradition to let the eldest men bath first and for the water to then be reused by the smaller members of the house. Perhaps Timothy had been unable to bath as frequently if the water wasn’t going to be used on as many people, Thomas Jopson wondered. 

“Where is everyone?” 

“All of our sisters are married and live with their husbands now. Mum’s sick in bed. Dad’s on a business trip with the East India Trading company but he’ll be back in a few days.” Timothy explained. 

“Mum’s sick?” Thomas asked worriedly. 

Timothy seemed afraid to elaborate. He just looked back at Thomas worriedly, gulped and nodded while preparing the tin kettle on the little coal stove they kept under the chimney. 

“What happened to Paddington?” Jopson asked. 

“The dog? It died two years ago, Thomas, didn’t you get our letter about it?” Timothy asked in surprise. 

Thomas thought for a moment, “That’s around the time our ships had a collision some of the mail got soaked in hot coffee when everything in the ship got jostled around, it was probably one of those letters.” 

Thomas knelt and rolled his right trouser leg up to show his brother the scar on his shin. “And I had this to contend with.” 

Timothy’s eyes widened. “What happened there?” he gasped. 

“I was flung across the room and my leg went straight into Captain Crozier’s liquor cabinet.” Thomas laughed. “The Captain seemed more worried about his whiskey than me. The doctors said the alcohol probably stopped it from getting infected. Considering how much things get shook about inside a ship I’m surprised how many sharp objects just get left about.” 

The boys laughed. 

The top of the tin kettle whistled when steam ran through it and the water had reached boiling point. 

“What did Paddington die of?” asked Thomas. 

“Just old age I think.” 

“We shall have to go to the pound and get a new one. ” 

“A puppy?” Timothy asked excitedly and Thomas nodded. 

While Timothy started carefully moving kettles of hot water into the bathtub upstairs, Thomas walked around the outside of the house with a stick, seeing if he could unplug any clogged drains. This helped some of the water flow away from the house. Then with a bucket he started emptying out the downstairs. 

When he got the water down to an inch, he aligned the furniture and mopped away what he could from the cold stone floor. The family afforded only one small carpet and that was in their mother’s room. 

The house had two bedrooms, and in those days that meant you were very well off for third class. Before Thomas left the house was more crowded, the boys slept in their father’s room and the girls slept in their mother’s room, on the floor under one’s coats of course. 

Timothy came down to tell Thomas the bath was ready and was astonished at how quickly Thomas cleaned the house. 

Thomas took his almost empty nap sack upstairs and retrieved from it a clean, dry cloth and small tin of exotic, tropical scented soap powder he’d picked up in Africa, he mixed some of this in with the bath water. 

While Timothy was in the bath Thomas went to check on his mother. “Mum… are you ok?” 

“Let me sleep Tim.” Came a drowsy mutter. 

“Mum it’s your Thomas, I’m back from the Antarctic…. Tim said you were sick… can I do anything to help you? What do you need?” 

She muttered something incoherent, Thomas leaned his ear closer. She fidgeted and pressed her face into her pillow. She hadn’t even bothered to look at him. She was reaching for a small, golden bottle on her bedside table. 

Now Thomas recognised, the room stank of vomit and laudanum. After all his hard work she was back on it. He picked up the bottle and questioned in horror, 

“Mum! Where did you get this!? Who gave it to you!?” 

“Please give it to me.” She moaned and stretched out her broken hand. 

Thomas slipped it into his breast pocket and left the room, slamming the door behind him. 

He spent the next hour running from local shop to shop, aggressively asking who had sold the poison and telling them never to sell to his mother or to any addict. The shopkeeper who finally admitted to selling the concoction was a well-meaning old Chinese merchant who apologised profusely and gave Jopson compensation for returning the mostly full bottle and an umbrella. 

Things would take a turn for the worse when he got home though. Timothy informed him their mother had left the house with his winter coat, still full of his wages. And if she couldn’t get laudanum in local shops, he knew she would go to the opium dens in east end for it if she had to. 

Thomas started doing the laundry for his family. 

“Should we call the police?” Timothy asked. “She’s technically stolen your wages.” 

“It might be misconstrued as theft; you know what they do to thieves.” Thomas warned. “Besides, I’ll get more money next week. I can go a week without food easy.” 

“We could tell the police she’s missing. Even if you had the energy to go after her yourself, she could be anywhere and she’s in no state to be walking the streets by herself, right?” Timothy asked. 

“Go tell the police that, but don’t mention she took anything of mine, ok? Just say she’s lost, and we’re worried about her and want her returned home. I’ll wash and mend our clothes while you do that.” 

“Aye sir!” said Timothy with a mock salute. Thomas smiled at him. 

* * * 

Three days later 

Thomas woke Timothy up before sunrise and gave him the end of the tin kettle on a string. “What’s this for?” asked Tim. 

“Hang it around your neck. We’re going hunting.” Said Thomas. 

They snuck onto the back of a coal train to get out into the countryside. The colours of summer where fading into autumn and the rain made everything dull. The boys swayed side to side with the winding of the railway, their coats soaked and flapping in the breeze. 

“Isn’t poaching illegal?!” Timothy asked, projecting his voice over the loud trudging of the steam engine.  
“So is catching a free ride on the back of a coal train!” Thomas shouted in return; he was clutching a shotgun under his coat. “But it’s not like we have a choice now is it!?” 

The train slowed down but didn’t stop, they took the opportunity to jump off near some woods surrounded by flat farmland. 

They walked further into the woods, then Thomas had them stop and began instructing his brother. “We only have one gun, and I’m the best shot, so I’m taking it south. You head to the north part of the forest and plant these cartridges.” Thomas put a strap of cartridges over his brother’s shoulder. “Make them go off at different intervals around the north end of the forest, to divert attention from anyone who might catch us. Do you know how to do that?” 

Timothy nodded. 

“Don’t set off your cartridges until you hear me fire two shots.” Thomas emphasized. "If you see someone coming your way, throw your cartridges into the bushes and run for it. If they grab you, if you have any trouble at all, blow your whistle and I’ll be there for you.” 

“Whistle? The kettle-end?” asked Timothy, pinching the metal cylinder that hung against his chest. 

Thomas nodded. 

“Keep your eyes peeled and ears open, some of these farmers will try to shoot you back. They won’t go easy on you just ‘cause you’re a littlun.” Thomas warned and patted his brother on the shoulder. 

Thomas Jopson took down two fat pheasants, a bullet each. They were males with beautiful red and green plumage. He tied strings around their feet and slung them over his shoulder. 

He heard a cartridge go off in the north end of the wood. 

Good, Timothy was following his orders well. 

Thomas began searching for another bird. He heard three more cartridges in the north before sighting a hawk in the treetops. This would be a more difficult shot than the pheasants. He aimed carefully. 

The kettle whistle came next. 

Startled like the birds that watched him hunt, Thomas lowered his gun and ran, following his ears. 

The whistle stopped abruptly before he could sight his brother. 

He paused and turned his ears around to listen in all directions. 

A faint scrambling and human voices were carried through the trees. He scrambled over damp ferns and roots. 

Finally, he saw. 

Timothy was struggling the grip of a burly, sour faced old farmer. The older man was dragging the boy away; he had a shotgun to hand and was accompanied by two dogs, spaniels. 

Thomas hid behind a broad, moss coated tree and waited for the Farmer to come near him with his back turned. 

“You’d better let me go! My older brother’s in the Navy and if he catches you, you’ll be in big trouble!” Timothy threatened and squirmed in the farmer’s grip. Thomas blushed and face palmed. 

“I don’t care if your brother’s some sodomite sailor! All poachers and thieves are to be hanged!” the farmer bellowed. 

The dogs seemed impartial. One sniffed at Thomas’s boots but didn’t alert its master of his presence. 

Finally, the farmer stepped right where Thomas hoped he would, and Thomas gave him a firm club to the back of his head with the butt of his rifle. 

Thomas dragged his younger brother away. 

On the other end of the wood there was a large quartz rock. 

Jopson buried his game and their equipment there. 

“I’ll come back for it when I’m sure I’m not being followed.” Said Thomas. 

He gave Timothy a disappointed look. “Why did you tell the farmer I was in the Navy!? That paired with our accents, physical description and social standing will really narrow the search down for the police!” The elder brother scalded. 

“Well then we’re lucky he didn’t get a good look at you!” Timothy retorted sadly. 

“But we look so similar… we’re still at risk. But I guess we’ll just have to see. Maybe we’ll be lucky or maybe we’ll be hanged.” Thomas sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. 

Timothy gawped at Thomas, he was deeply ashamed, he sought his older brother’s approval more than anything. 

Timothy stepped closer to Thomas and leaned his head against his chest. He started to cry. Thomas stroked his brother’s head and back, attempting to comfort him. 

“Easy now. Boys your age aren’t allowed to cry anymore…” Thomas cooed. 

“…Sorry.” Timothy sobbed and hugged his brother. Thomas returned the hug. 

“The sooner we get away from here the better.” Said the older brother.


	3. Pursuit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What if Jopson bumped into Captain Crozier while they were off duty and Crozier invited him to tea?

Thomas Jopson was lost in memory; the times in his childhood when his mother had taught him how to clean and mend. “Try to see it as a good deed rather than a chore.” she would tell him. Up until his last day in England before furthest south she had been his dearest mentor, he had been regarded a ‘mother’s boy’ and was never ashamed of that. 

He remembered pricking his fingers with the needle and drawing blood. His mother would kiss the pain away. Only a small child can feel healed by such a ploy. 

Thomas thought it was a series of wooden thumps that roused him from the sleep. But the knocking had stopped by the time he opened his eyes and realised where he was; leaning on his mother’s bedside. He watched her toss and turn, agonised and sweating in her slumber. The old iron framed bed was the only one the family afforded, and it was only for her and her husband to sleep in. Thomas had never slept on a feather mattress but resting his head against the edge of it had been a very pleasant feeling, tremendously better than lying on the floor with a sack of worn clothes as a pillow. 

She was bundled in layers of coats and a quilted blanket made from rag and stuffed with fluff from shoddy fabric. She shivered, her teeth chattered, she complained of the cold and the pain. Thomas took his snow coat from the back of his chair and laid it over her. 

He cradled her outstretched, broken hand and placed a gentle kiss on the back of it. 

The door was already ajar, but it creaked open further when Timothy hurried in holding an apple in his mouth. 

“Take that out or you’ll lose your teeth!” Thomas ordered quietly. 

Timothy bit a chunk of apple out, held it on the inside of his cheek and said, “Police are at the door, dad’s talking to them.” 

The brothers crouched at the top of the stairs and tried to listen in on the conversation being had at the front door. 

“They’re definitely here for us.” Tim whispered. 

Thomas nodded at him. 

They snuck onto the neighbours' roof from the back window of the landing. 

Slowly, silently they moved to peer around the corner of the red brick work. They saw their father speaking gravely with two police officers and the farmer from yesterday. 

Thomas heard his father respond to the inspector’s words with a bewildered voice his sons knew was an act, a very convincing one. “I’m sorry? I’m very confused. Yes, my older son is in the navy but he’s a steward, he’s never touched a gun and he could certainly never muster the strength to knock a man out.” 

Thomas felt slightly insulted by his father’s assessment of his strength, but at least he was providing a good distraction. 

“What’s more you’re talking about a place I’ve never even heard of… if my son is so poor that he’s driven to poach how would he afford to travel to somewhere there was game?” 

Thomas whispered to his brother, “run for our lives to the docks through Poplar street, secret passageway.” 

They scrambled down a brick wall and broke into a sprint. 

They didn’t escape the attention of the Farmer and the deputy. 

“There they are! They’re getting away!” The farmer screamed and pointed. 

“Halt in the name of the law!” shouted the deputy. 

The police and farmer ran after the boys. 

Although they nearly lost their pursuers at the ‘secret passageway’, a hole in a back-alley fence partly blocked by old wooden crates, the police caught up with them and chased them along the doc street. 

They were running blind through a crowded coastal market at the end of the harbor when suddenly a mysterious hand jotted out from the sea of faces and pulled Thomas inwards. 

Thomas didn’t yet look to see who was pulling at him so roughly, he strained to see Timothy jump onto a boat to hide. 

The arms of the person holding Thomas brought him closer. He felt his back against the front of the other person’s body, and the stranger pulled their long coat up and over the lower half of the lad’s face to hide him from the police. 

Thomas watch their pursuers pass them by. 

He hoped Timothy would get off the boat at the opportune moment when it came. 

Catching his breath, heavy inhalation brought with it a very familiar and comforting scent. The smell of the Captain’s quarters on Terror; whisky, tobacco, ink and varnish. He recognised the buttons and repair stitches on the naval coat that was draped over him, obscuring half of his face and his right shoulder. He’d sowed them in himself. 

He felt a shiver of astonishment role up his spine when he looked over at the man holding him. 

He’d never imagined he’d be seized in such a way by Captain Crozier. 

Jopson jumped backwards and stared at Crozier with his mouth agape. Crozier pulled him closer again to keep him hidden. The police were still looking for him nearby. 

Thomas wanted to thank the Captain and leave but all he could manage was a very shy “Uhm… Sir?” 

Crozier moved away and took a firm hold of Jopson’s forearm. 

“Come along, Mr Jopson.” Crozier insisted in a low, forceful voice. 

He took Jopson down a narrow alley which led back onto a cobbled city street. They stopped in the shadows there. 

Thomas was still catching his breath. 

“Christ, lad! What are you doing running around the docks with the Police on your tail just four days after I let you go?” 

“Captain… thank you. You… saved me.” Jopson stammered. 

“Whatever happened, Jopson?” Crozier asked more impatiently. 

“I got into a fight with a farmer, sir. He’s accused my brother and I of trespassing and poaching.” Jopson confessed fearfully with a gulp. 

“Will your brother be alright on his own or do you need to go back to him and help him out?” asked Crozier. 

“He’ll be no better off with or without me now.” Jopson shivered and swallowed thickly. “Why do you ask, Captain? Do you need my help with something?” 

“…Will you require some payment if my answer is yes?” asked Crozier. 

“Certainly not, sir! I owe you my life! And you don’t owe me a thing, Captain!” he exclaimed. 

“Provide todays service without pay, to make up for sticking your leg through my liquor stores during our collision in the South pole, if I am not pressing you.” Crozier requested. 

Jopson’s eyes flitted around, his cheeks burned, “Thank you very much, sir. What do you need?” 

“Walk with me.” Crozier half ordered, half requested, with a mischievous grin. He started slowly down the passage back into town. 

“Where to, sir?” 

“Your troubles with the police are clearly far from over. You, getting yourself imprisoned or hanged would be very inconvenient. I’ll do what I can to make sure this matter is settled with you in one piece.” Crozier announced. 

Thomas started walking to catch up with him and asked, 

“Erm… Are you coming to the police station with me then?” 

“Later, if it is required. But first, you’re going to help me carry some things back to my room, in town. Help this tired old sea dog out.” Crozier patted Jopson on the shoulder. 

The pair ventured into the kind of maximum quality alcohol store that Jopson had never set foot inside and the younger man was immediately overwhelmed by its strong aromas and the diversity of the multi-coloured bottles, intricately designed glasses and decanters. 

Crozier started collecting bottles of whiskey and giving them to Jopson to carry. 

“I thought you would have been on your way back to Banbridge by now. For how long are you in London, sir? If you’ll pardon my asking.” 

“Two more days.” Crozier replied snappily while lining up four bottles of glen stag. “I am currently sharing a rented lodging with Mr Blanky. We're waiting for a train to Whitby, where I’ll be staying with his family for a few days before I head back to Banbridge, alone. Whenever I spend a long time traveling somewhere, I like to be able to stop for a few days to have a look around. I’m in no hurry to get home. My family is very big and loud. I mourn the solitude of my cabin.” 

“I also wish I was back on Terror already, sir.” Said Jopson. Crozier looked at him curiously. “Dry land is troublesome, sir.” 

“…You’ll get used to it.” 

“I think I should start looking for another ship to work on, sir.” 

“You’ll do as you please now, of course, but I think you should stay in England for a few years more before heading out again. Savour the comfort of home… I don’t want you working for another Captain. I may require your services yet again in the not too distant future.” 

Jopson grinned a pleased grin from ear to ear and said devoutly, “I don’t think I’d want to sail under anyone but you, sir.” 

They went on quite the shopping spree, Thomas carried everything apart from one crate Crozier held. 

As they approached a more upper-class areas of the city Crozier paused and looked worriedly at Jopson. 

“Whatever is the matter, Captain?” asked the younger man. 

“I’ve just noticed… your hair is a state!” Crozier exclaimed. 

“Apologies, sir. I’m afraid circumstances afforded me no opportunity to prepare myself for our meeting.” Jopson replied gracefully. 

Crozier did what he could to make it neat with his spare hand and Jopson fidgeted shyly and stared at him with wide, ice-green eyes. 

“Sir… you don’t need to do that…” 

“Everyone is going to stare at us if you walk through this part of London looking as you do now. Here, put those down a second and don my coat!” Crozier demanded and started taking his coat off. 

“Is there something wrong with how I’m dressed, sir?” 

“You have a rip in your trouser leg.” 

“Oh… must have happened while I was running, sir.” 

Jopson had forgotten to bring his coat when he escaped the house. The rain had drenched him, running had left him disheveled. 

They were in a sheltered part of town now. 

The Captain’s dark blue, gold embroidered naval coat hung loosely over his servant’s smaller, slimmer body. 

Crozier was wearing a blue silk double-breasted vest over a smart, white shirt. The gold chain of his pocket watch hung over his belly. 

Jopson had no sooner picked up all of Crozier’s belongings when he felt the older man tugging on his arm and leading him protectively onward. 

Jopson insisted on carrying all of Crozier's shopping to where he wanted it, within the small but very expensive looking fourth story apartment. 

Thomas Blanky leaned against the window, overlooked the city from on high and smoked his clay pipe. He was looking at the sea, sparkling silver beyond the red roof tops and brick chimneys, until company arrived. Then he watched young Mr Jopson scurrying about the place as one would watch a mouse or small bird if it were showing such odd behavior as running small circles around one’s garden path. Not really something he wanted to interfere with but why was it here of all places. 

“Francis?” Blanky finally questioned. 

“We bumped into each other in the dock yard while I was buying fish.” 

“Where’s the fish, Francis?” asked Blanky gruffly. 

“I forgot it.” Crozier confessed awkwardly. 

“Christ, you’ve got one of every brand of alcohol but nothing to eat! What are we having for tea? James will be here soon, and you know what he’s like.” Blanky warned huskily in his deep Yorkshire accent. 

“I got absinthe.” Crozier offered Blanky a large green bottle with a fairy illustrated on it. 

“Green fairy’s no good to me on an empty stomach.” Blanky Grumbled. 

“I can fetch you something if you give me the money for it, sir.” Jopson offered. 

“You’re staying here until the police come for you.” Crozier ordered and pointed at him. 

Blanky rolled his eyes and blew some smoke out of the window. “What did he do this time, Francis?” Blanky asked with a sigh. 

“Says he got into some trouble with a farmer. Got accused of poaching.” Said Crozier. 

“Of course, he poached, look at the half-starved lad.” Blanky snorted. He looked at Jopson and folded his arms. “But it wasn’t the crime that was the problem was it lad? It were the getting caught.” 

Jopson blushed and looked ashamedly at his feet. 

He felt a hand patting the middle of his back and Crozier saying, “Jopson, why don’t you have tea with us?” 

Jopson looked at Crozier. Unable to say what he was thinking he stiffly took a seat at the already laid table and stared at Crozier as if awaiting further orders. 

“Oy! Go clean yourself up first! Sir James Clark Ross is coming to tea!” Blanky growled. 

Jopson gave a squeak of surprise and stood back up again, he obeyed. 

“Bathroom’s to your left, Jopson.” Crozier informed after observing the lad’s frantic search for it. 

Blanky narrowed his dark blue eyes at crozier. “I’ll go get something for tea.” He grumbled. 

“I keep telling you, Thomas! It’s Dinner, not Tea! It goes ‘Breakfast, lunch and dinner’, not ‘Breakfast, Dinner and Tea’!” 

This petty disagreement on dialect is yet to be resolved in any British domestic situation and the futility of it always made Mr Blanky laugh. 

Crozier requested that Blanky ‘Slowly fetch the police’ while he was out: to sort out Thomas Jopson’s situation and hopefully strike up a bargain with the disgruntled farmer. 

The walls of the bathroom were decorated with arsenic green tiles. 

Jopson was happy to see that the stove for heating the water was right next to the bathtub in this place, he wouldn’t have to labor dangerously to fill the tub. He turned it on and began inspecting the scant amount of hygiene products on the shelf above the sink. He knew if Blanky ever used any of these, he was borrowing in microscopic amounts from Captain Crozier. 

Thomas drew a heavy sigh, “Will he ever learn to put lids on things?” he muttered to himself as he began resealing all the bottles, tubes and tins. 

There was a bottle of rose water no larger than his thumb, a breath freshener spray, a rubber tube of shaving soap, another bottle of hair soap, and a light green bar of mint scented soap. 

“.... Toothpaste?” Thomas read aloud, inspecting a flat, green tin. He smelt its mysterious contents; a mint scented cream. He scooped a little on his fingertip and tasted it. It was sweet, he didn’t like sweet things, luckily, or he would have tried to eat more of it and made himself sick. 

After rinsing the shampoo from his hair Thomas heard a knock on the door. 

“Is it alright if I come in, Jopson?” he heard Captain Crozier’s voice ask. 

“Enter at your own peril, Captain!” Thomas replied jokingly. 

Crozier walked in with some clean clothes over his arm and explained modestly, “I thought maybe because you didn’t go swimming with the others in New Zeeland that you were shy about your nudity, otherwise I wouldn’t have asked.” 

“Not at all, sir. Don’t you recall I was sick when we docked in New Zealand? Otherwise I should have loved to swim there. I’m very upset I missed the opportunity.” 

"I just so happen to have some decent clothes that might fit you. You can borrow them just for tonight, but I want them back and as good as new before I leave for Whitby." Crozier lay down the clothes on a lidded basket near the door. A smart white shirt with yellow stripes and a pair of mustard coloured trousers with rows of straps running up the outside of the legs. 

“How and why might you have come in possession of such fine garments anywhere near my size, sir?” Jopson questioned, confused but with a very pleased grin. 

“I bought them for Archie, my younger brother. It shall be his thirty-fifth birthday when I get back. I think you’re shorter, broader shouldered and narrower hipped than he is, so the clothes may be a little ill fitting, but please do try them on and see. I’d rather you didn't wear clothes with holes in tonight; that would be an embarrassment for both you and Sir James.” 

“Thank you very much, sir.” 

“...Sir James might not be very happy about me inviting you unexpectedly to our tea party. But I don’t want you to be quiet all night just because you're a bit of an odd one out.” 

Jopson tried to stop a laugh from leaving his mouth by covering it with his hand. “I don’t believe I’m much of a chatter box by nature, sir.” 

“You’ll probably never see any of us again after tonight, so there’ll be no repercussions if you are frank with us. Consider this our last goodbye before we are scattered to the four corners of the earth.” Crozier advised. 

Jopson gave him a nod. “Yessir. But if you still want me to pour drinks and fetch things for you tonight it would make me very happy.” Jopson offered hopefully. 

“If that’s what you want to do.” Crozier shrugged.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like Francis addressing Jopson by his first name is a very pivotal moment in their relationship and so until I catch up to that point in the cannon Crozier will keep calling him 'Jopson'. It makes things a bit easier when the two Thomas's are in the same scene. Calling the lad by his last name seems to indicate an assertion of dominance, Crozier's calls Jopson by his first name when he finally regards him as an equal if not someone who's help he depends on.
> 
> At this point Crozier is making plans to marry Craycroft and retire so he's more hopeful and energetic than when the series starts, and he and Jopson do not expect to meet again but Crozier keeps being all like "but hypothetically if we do have to go to sea again..." 
> 
> Jopson discovers toothpaste in this; early home made versions of it were around since (possibly before) the middle ages but canned toothpaste very similar to the modern product was a rare and expensive thing in Victorian England, he's still not eaten in quite a few days and is not sure whether or not this is something edible but he doesn't like the taste. Jopson has nice teeth cos he doesn't like sweet things.
> 
> Eh-hem! In reference to to bath scene at the end of this chapter, in Victorian England a young man's naked body was considered perfectly modest and inoffensive.


	4. Green Fairy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Excuse me while I hide in the attic and write stories about Victorian polar explorers having parties.
> 
> Took a page from Moulin Rouge and had Jopson try absinthe for the first time.

“As we were unable to find guns, powder, ammunition or any evidence of poached animals on Mr Jopson’s property, we can only attest that Mr Somerset deserves compensation for the offenses of trespassing and assault. Mr Francis Crozier, are you prepared to pay the fifty pound fine for these offenses on Mr Thomas Jopson’s behalf?” The inspector questioned drawly. 

“If that would satisfy Mr Somerset and put an end to any future harassment of my employee, I am prepared to write a check at once.” Francis Crozier proclaimed, keeping his accent as clear and anglofied as he would if he were talking to the Earl of Moira, or royalty. 

“That would satisfy me.” Mr Somerset grumbled. “As long as I don’t see that miserable creature anywhere near my property ever again.” 

Crozier smiled humorously, “Well, although I may beg you to consider how easy it is for a man walking in the countryside to find himself lost in a field, I promise you it shall not be your fields in future. He’s a very well-behaved boy, but they all need a slap on the wrist sometimes, to be reminded of lines they should not cross.” 

Jopson could hear the conversation between Crozier, Somerset and the inspector through the open bathroom door, but he was grinning and admiring himself in his new clothes through the mirror. He had to fold up the sleeves and trouser legs slightly, other than that they fit him well. He started fastening the white silk cravat around his neck. 

Jopson’s head popped around the corner when he was sure the inspector and Mr Somerset had left. 

Mr Blanky folded his arms and huffed; “Good flaming riddance to them. How flaming petty do you have to be to chase someone this far over a flaming trespassing offence.” 

Crozier smiled at Blanky and then looked curiously at Jopson. “Does it fit you, lad? Come out and let us have a look at you.” Crozier coaxed. 

Jopson blushed and stepped out. 

“I’ve made a proper gentleman of you.” Crozier said happily, bowing his head slightly. 

“If he keeps blushing like that all night, I’m going to be too nauseous to keep this meal down!” Blanky bemoaned and face palmed. “What an awful colour those britches are too, Francis what were you thinking?” 

Jopson beamed at Blanky and said, “I like it.” 

“I’m going to the oven.” Blanky grumbled and left the room hastily. 

Jopson followed him into the kitchen and asked, “Is there anything I can do to help, sir?” 

“Serve ?” Blanky suggested and gestured to the tea set. 

“Are you any good at preparing meals, Mr Blanky?” Jopson inquired. 

“I know every way to prepare a fish, been living off fish my whole life, believe it or not part of being a survivalist is knowing how to cook up a good fish! Come 'ere, I’ll show you how to debone them!” 

Jopson came to watch Blanky work. 

Crozier came into the kitchen, “It’s the only thing he can cook.” he said with a mocking chuckle. 

“And the only thing you can cook is water. And you just eat everything else flaming raw like a flaming Esquimau!” Blanky teased in return. 

Crozier decided to take this as meaning he should put the kettle on; Jopson was too absorbed in his lesson, or perhaps just astounded at the image of Thomas Blanky wearing an apron. 

When it came to the last fish, Blanky put the apron on Jopson and had him debone it to prove he’d taken the lesson on board. 

“If you don’t do it right you could end up killing the people who eat it.” Blanky warned. 

Jopson smiled at him and asked, “And have you ever used this technique to assassinate anyone, sir?” This did get the intended chuckle from both Blanky and Crozier. 

Once all was prepared it was a matter of waiting for the arrival of their final guest of the evening. Jopson scalded Crozier several times for trying to eat before the meal had properly started. 

One was, however, permitted to begin sipping the first round of while waiting for the last guest. 

It was then Jopson investigated his tea and saw a red liquid swirling in it, and realised he was bleeding from his gums. This startled him. His face whitened and he put the cup down shakily. 

His sharp inward gasp drew Blanky and Crozier’s concerned gazes. 

“Did you see a ghost or something?” grunted Blanky. 

“What’s the matter?” Crozier asked. 

“I’m... my gums are bleeding.” 

Crozier swiftly moved to hold Jopson's face in his hands and asked him to open his mouth. He examined Jopson worriedly. 

“Did you eat since we made port?” Crozier questioned gravely, releasing Jopson now. 

“No Sir.” the lad shook his head. 

Crozier reassured Jopson that if it was scurvy it was early signs and that a good meal like tonight's would help him. He poured a tablespoon of lemon juice into Jopson’s glass. 

Upon Sir James Ross’s fashionably late arrival he jokingly remarked, “Ahh, all the best class climbers in the British Isles are here I see! Don’t all stick your hooks in me at once, boys, I have enough trouble getting Francis into polite company.” Ross gave Crozier a friendly hug and shook Blanky and Jopson’s hands before sitting down and allowing the meal to commence. 

“I hardly recognized your steward, Francis.” Ross remarked. Jopson was sat the furthest from Ross. “But he always was very clean... quite unorthodox to dine with one's servants.” 

Blanky interceded, “Francis isn’t a huge proponent of class divisions, are you, Francis?” 

Crozier shrugged and reasoned, “Oh I wouldn’t say that. It’s quite a natural occurrence. The lower class are generally less clean and less capable of intelligent conversation. But I value the meritocracy the navy affords us above all systems that rank persons. Most importantly Mr Jopson is very clean and will not pass on lice or syphilis simply by eating from the same table as you.” 

Ross laughed and said, “I shouldn’t expect so my dear Francis.” 

“So how did he persuade you to come down to our level then, Sir James?” Blanky asked playfully. 

“This is the second party for the celebration of our brilliant friend's acceptance into the Royal Astronomical society for his fantastic work in the south pole!” Ross announced and raised his glass of port cheerfully. The table toasted and drank. 

“I always knew you were brilliant, Captain!” Jopson congratulated. 

Crozier laughed bashfully. 

“You must sing your saints praises louder than that, Mr Jopson, if you want to show him just how much you appreciate him bailing you out of prison!” Blanky scoffed provocatively. 

Jopson was mortified by this remark. 

“Oh do tell me the story behind that, Francis?” Ross requested. 

Crozier rubbed the back of his head nervously and excused, “He went for a walk in the country and got lost. It was just a trespassing offence. Fifty pound fine.” 

Ross looked sadly at Crozier and tutted. “That was good of you, I can give you twenty-five to help you out.” he offered. 

“No no, James, it’s nothing.” Crozier insisted and Ross pressed no further. 

“Mr Turner has done it again! He’s caught everyone’s attention with a very strange painting that’s currently in our London public gallery!” Ross informed enthusiastically. “He’s called it 'Light and Colour, Goethe's Theory: The Morning after the Deluge Moses writing the Book of Genesis.” 

“A mouth full!” Blanky assessed disapprovingly. 

“What does this painting look like, sir?” Jopson asked timidly. 

“In the middle stands what looks like the obscured shape of a man holding a crosier, atop a , and a of heads below, everything obscured in golden mist!” Ross answered. 

Crozier turned to Jopson and said, “Mr Turner always goes out to sea and climbs up the mast during storms, a fool hardy and eccentric act, but the painter insists it’s for the purpose of getting the best and most dramatic clouds for his work! Ross and I have taken him out to sea before. I think he’s been on more than half of the ships in the navy. He’s a funny fellow but he has a very annoying and persistent cough.” Crozier finished with a hint of irritation at his recollection of the painter. 

Ross laughed. 

“And does it work, sir? Climbing the mast to see the storm clouds?” 

“Why not see for yourself, Jopson. The London public gallery is free entry for all, you should have a look around in there. It would be good for your education.” Crozier advised. 

“But be sure to well if you do go.” Blanky added. “I got thrown out for walking around with me shirt untucked.” 

“I’ve never been to an art gallery before but the few paintings I have seen I’ve been fond of.” Jopson confessed shyly. 

“It’s great entertainment, on par with books, but not as fun as riding waves in a small sailboat of the coast of Maui.” Ross decreed. 

“What books would you recommend, Sir James?” asked Jopson. 

Crozier looked a little surprised by Jopson’s forwardness, but the lad had finished a glass of port and a glass or rum by now. 

James seemed to have forgotten the class problem also. 

“The Voyage of the is a must read. Especially if you’re stuck on dry land for a few years.” said James Ross. 

Crozier gifted Ross a warm smile for his understanding and Ross’s green eyes flickered at him briefly, the smile was returned. 

Ross leaned back in his chair and announced to no one in particular, “I’d recommend anything by my friends Mr Darwin and Mr Dickens really. Our very own Surgeon McCormick was a character in Darwin's The Voyage of the Beagle." 

“Ay and that flaming Captain Fitzroy, poor Mr Darwin had to share his bed cabin with him for six years.” Crozier recalled. 

Ross laughed and informed Blanky and Jopson; “Francis met Captain Fitzroy at an admiralty party once, within ten minutes they were threatening to kill each other with the silverware! I had to break up the fight. What started that Francis?” 

“A disagreement over Magnetic and Astronomical poles. I told him the weather was caused by random Magnetic events and no amount of praying to god would halt a polar shift or a bad storm. ‘May as well do a rain dance’ I told him. He blew his top. Apparently, I was undermining his ‘credibility as a Meteorologist’. Seems like if you tell that man anything that isn’t written in the bible his head explodes.” 

“And yet Mr Darwin said he regarded Captain Fitzroy as a friend.” Ross pointed out. 

“Although I haven’t met Mr Darwin personally, he comes across as a man with no comprehension of hostility whatsoever; Fitzroy regarded Darwin as a viper.” 

After a few more drinks, Jopson gradually became more relaxed around his former superiors. 

Sir James made a playful, mocking impression of his uncle and mentor, Sir John Ross, telling him; “You are not to be fraternizing with scallywags and scum such as our inferiors; Blanky and Crozier! For we are noble Scotts!” 

“A little hoarser than that, James!” Blankey encouraged heartily amid laughter. 

James tried to make his voice even dryer, deeper and hoarser; “You know better than to let yourself be corrupted by lesser sailors and….” James started coughing, “Oh fuck it, I need more whiskey!” 

“You sound just like Francis!” chortled Blanky, 

“Hey!” Crozier protested playfully, but he too had been crying with laughter at Ross’s series of impressions of the admiralty, and he enjoyed self-deprecating banter just as much. 

While the older men rolled in their seats at more personal jokes, Jopson looked on and laughed very quietly and nervously. He’d not met a lot of the higher up men in the admiralty, but he was sure he was meant to have a lot of respect for them. 

Crozier raised his glass and Toasted, “To the corruption of lesser sailors.” 

“To the corruption of lesser sailors!” Blanky and James cheered, they put their glassed together and looked at Jopson expectantly, he nervously partook. 

This was all very strange to Jopson. What a surreal day it had been. That morning he had been on the run from the police and drenched in the rain; Now he was sat in a warm, high end London flat, having tea with his superior officers. There were no more ‘sirs’, everyone was on first-name terms now apart from that Crozier Continued to call Jopson by his surname, Ross called him ‘The Steward’ and probably wouldn’t bother to remember his name, but Blanky had taken to calling him ‘Thomas’. 

"Try some of this, Thomas.” Mr Blanky said with a mischievous grin while pouring Jopson something from the bottle with the green fairy on it. Jopson looked on in fascination while Blanky melted a sugar cube with warm water and a teaspoon into the glass. The colour of the liquorish scented liquid changed from a clear and emerald-like green to a clouded and minty colour. 

Jopson had never tried it and Ross and Crozier refused to try it. So the two Thomas’s would be sharing this last . 

They clinked their glasses together. 

Jopson sipped his absinthe slowly. 

Mr Blanky gulped his absinthe down with zeal and Ross remarked that the habit would make him blind. 

“Cock and !” Blanky answered back and wiped his lips with the back of his hand. “It’s just propaganda by the wine companies!” 

Jopson found something about his ability to take in sound and colour, and even to perceive time, was getting increasingly obscure the more he drank. 

He took Blanky’s offer of a second glass of Absinthe and before the end of it he found that the world was in a green mist. Sound was echoed and blared in places, contrast between light and dark was heightened. But it felt nice and everything seemed much funnier to him. 

He found it difficult to navigate. He wondered how and why he’d ended up sat on the floor with his back to the wall. 

The last thing he remembered before blacking out was laughing at Blanky and Crozier play-wrestling. 

Jopson woke up with his cravat tied around his forehead and needing the lavatory. After emptying his bladder and being mildly sick he drank some water and splashed some in his face. Now his senses where returning to him. But he was still not fully sober. 

It was dark and silent outside. The was filled with snores. He walked back into the middle room and saw that everyone was still here, asleep. 

He started collecting the empty bottles strewn upon the floor and putting them away. Blanky was asleep on his back near the kitchen door and Jopson had to step over him several times. 

Crozier and Ross lay on the other side of the room. Ross was asleep on the sofa; quietest of the snorers, and Crozier had fallen asleep on the floor next to him. Ross’s arm was dangling downwards, he was clasping hands with Crozier. 

They had fallen asleep holding hands. 

One of the five embroidered feather pillows, four of which Ross now had entirely to himself, had ended up in the middle of the floor. 

The steward picked it up and knelt beside his Captain. 

He gently lifted Crozier’s head and placed the pillow underneath. 

Jopson watched Crozier sleep for a moment, wondering if Francis would miss him if he left now. 

He felt like he may have done something terribly embarrassing last night, under the influence of the strange green liquid Blanky had given him. 

In the end he chose to leave without the trouble of that final, final goodbye. 

He changed back into his old clothes before departing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you are unfamiliar with Captain Fitzroy, The 1978 BBC TV 'The Voyage of Charles Darwin' is very good.


	5. HMS Terror Limited

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Skipping ahead to Jopson's return to HMS Terror. Jopson and Crozier catch up after being separated for about two years and Jopson meets the Terror lieutenants for the first time. Jopson his being followed by a seagull.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Warning: There's some subtle references to period typical attitudes towards race and sexuality in this but probably not anything too upsetting, I like to keep things pretty mild.

Thomas ran along the crowded docs that spring morning of 1845. The last man aboard HMS Terror. He had to make a dangerous jump as the gangway was in the process of being drawn up. 

A tall lieutenant with wispy blond hair, steadied him and laughed, “Oh my, you’re sprightly.” 

Another Lieutenant, ordinary in height and youthful faced despite the light brown beard, asked him for his papers. While Jopson watched him read them he asked, “Are you the first Lieutenant?” 

“That’s ‘Sir’, officer on parade.” The bearded Lieutenant corrected. 

“...Sir.” 

“No, I’m the third. Lieutenant Irving.” He pointed at the more chipper, fair haired lieutenant, “And this is Second Lieutenant Hodgson.” 

“Not polite to point, John.” Hodgson chided jokingly. 

Irving put his hand down and looked at Jopson. “And you’re Mr Jopson, The Captain’s Steward. You sailed with him to the South Pole in 39?” Irving asked with a hint of caution while returning Jopson’s papers. 

“Yes, Sir.” 

“You’ll know where everything is, then.” Hodgson said Happily. 

The second Lieutenant crossed something out in the large, thin book he was holding. He presented it to Jopson and asked him to put his signature down. 

“I do hope your lateness isn’t habitual. The rest of us will start to wonder why Captain Crozier bothers to keep you around.” Irving said disapprovingly. 

“A brief uniform inspection, if you please Mr Jopson.” Hodgson requested. 

The two lieutenants looked Jopson up and down. Self-consciously, the steward corrected any slight misplacement in his uniform that may have arisen from his rush. 

Hodgson looked at his boots. Jopson proudly showed off how clean and well-polished they were. 

Hodgson smiled at Jopson and said, “Those are marvelous, what is your choice brand of polish, Mr Jopson?” 

Irving rolled his eyes at Hodgson. 

“Urm... I used pig fat, sir.” 

Hodgson rose both eyebrows at him, “Really? But they’re so black!” he exclaimed gaily. 

“The logbook, if you please, Hodgson.” Irving requested impatiently. 

Hodgson snapped it shut and gave it to Irving. 

“Put your things away and make yourself comfortable. You’ll report to Mr Helpman, the ship’s clerk, at two Bells.” Irving informed. 

“Welcome back aboard.” Hodgson chirped warmly. 

Jopson saluted them before walking briskly in the direction of his old berth. 

Terror’s insides were a narrow, low-ceiling-ed and claustrophobic wooden maze filled with strangers. The creaking and swaying of the world around him reassured Jopson that dry land and its noisy troubles were surely shrinking in the distance now. 

He hurried to unload his baggage before beginning a fanatical mission to bring Captain Crozier some tea and biscuits upon their reunion. 

Stood outside of Crozier’s cabin, Jopson listened carefully to the voices from within before entering. A big, black newfoundland dog walked over to the door slowly. Neptune sat next to Jopson and started whining and pawing at the door gently; trying to gesture to the human that it wanted help getting in. 

Jopson carefully held the trey in one hand so he could pet Neptune's head. 

Captain crozier’s voice; “You were on the Vindictive when she ran aground off the isle of white then?” 

“Yes, she was easily re-floated the next day.” replied a low-pitched, clear, well-spoken man. 

“How did you find your time on her altogether?” 

“Wholly boring I’m afraid, Captain. Although I did appreciate her lineage as one of the first of her kind.” 

“You utilized the perks of being a lieutenant no doubt.” 

“Yessir, our rather brief survey mission afforded me the opportunity to construct a butterfly and beetle collection.” 

“What's your...” Crozier paused at the familiar, jaunty triple knock on his cabin door. 

“Come!” the Captain called. 

The steward slid the door open, stepped inside and closed it behind himself. 

“Sorry to interrupt, sirs.” 

The dog wondered in, the lieutenant sat with the Captain tried to get its attention, but Neptune was intent on snuggling up near the stove and being left alone. 

“Ah, Jopson! I’m very happy to see you again, you’re looking very well.” Crozier rejoiced. 

“Thank you, sir, you also look well. I thought you'd appreciate tea.” Jopson replied calmly with his eyes downcast. 

“Let me introduce Edward Little, he is our first Lieutenant aboard Terror. Edward, this is Mr Jopson, my personal steward, he’s been by my side since the Ross expedition. He will tend to you in my absence.” 

Little nodded quietly at Jopson. 

Jopson flickered his bright eyes at the first Lieutenant to give his face a brief, rather uninterested study while placing the tea trey on the table the two older men sat at. 

Little was not required to formerly greet someone so ‘below him in class’, but if he would not oblige then neither would the steward. 

Jopson looked at Crozier’s hands, the weathered fingers tapping the polished wooded surface impatiently. 

“If anything were to happen to me he’d become your servant...” 

“You mustn’t talk like that, Captain.” Jopson pleaded. He gave Crozier a warm, reassuring smile and began pouring the tea. 

“Thank you, Jopson.” Crozier rasped softly. 

“Always here for you, sir.” Jopson chirped. 

“You seem very excited for the voyage ahead.” Crozier remarked. 

“Glad to be back on Terror, sir. And you?” 

“I’m as ready to freeze my arse off in the polar regions as I’ll ever be.” Crozier grumbled. 

“If you need anything, I’m here for you, sir.” Jopson avowed. 

The steward moved away, to stand with his back to the wall. He took up a graceful posture; his head held high, shoulders back, fists clenched. His eyelids looked nearly closed with contemplation when he looked down. He occasionally flickered his gaze up at Crozier. 

“Lieutenant Little, What’s your chief intellectual pursuit?” The Captain asked, 

Little had to pull his eyes away from Jopson to answer, 

“Oh, coastal and underwater geology, sir. The bugs are just a hobby. What are the other Lieutenants pursuing?” 

“Hodgson is chiefly interested in the more human aspects of the discovery service; language and culture, but he sticks to the European languages, which I find a flowery, impractical decision. Where we’re going, it’s more useful to know Inuktitut than French.” 

“Certainly, sir.” Little agreed, blowing on the hot liquid in his teacup. 

“Irving is chiefly interested in meteorology, but he has been known to collect rocks so he can probably engage you in Geology as well. He’s a very religious man, not aggressively so, merely studious. I have no fellow Astronomers aboard, I see.” Crozier finished with an under the breath, slightly disappointed laugh. 

“Every sailor knows a little bit about astronomy and meteorology though, sir.” Little reminded. 

Little assessed the way the steward was staring at the Captain drinking was as overbearing, as if one had poisoned the tea and was waiting to see a reaction. He shook the thought away, there was surely a more innocent motive for the steward’s attentiveness. 

“It’s rare... for a Captain to keep the same Steward for so long.” Little observed between sips. 

“You’ll soon see why.” Crozier forecast with a grin. 

A very loud seagull landed outside the great cabin window; flapping, squawking and pecking at the glass. 

Crozier and Little became distracted by this until Jopson successfully shoed it away with a gentle tap on the glass. 

“I wanted to let you know, Edward,” Crozier began, catching Little’s attention with the use of his Christian name, “That I don’t look down on you for having completed an exam to get your current post. You just about missed the opportunity for a more renowned promotion through some act of valour in combat, and the exam results only prove you’re more of an intellectual sort. I think you shall make a fine commander and I’m glad to have you as my second.” 

“Thank you, sir.” Little beamed proudly, then took a long sip of the tea. 

When Edward left the seagull came back and Jopson bent forwards and started tapping the window to see its reaction. It scrutinized him with its beady yellow eye. “It’s gotten cockier this time.” Jopson observed. 

“So ’ve you.” He heard Crozier laugh, the sound of the Captains footsteps approaching him from behind. 

Startled by the accusation, Jopson straitened his back, held his hands together behind himself and gave Crozier an innocent pout. “How so, sir?” 

“You didn’t wait for me to call you this time.” Crozier observed and stood next to Jopson, watching the British coastline as it faded between the white sky and the black ocean. 

“A servant must anticipate the needs of his master before they are needed.” said Jopson, his eyes closed, a peaceful expression on his youthful face. 

“I wish you could have had tea with us, but I can’t gauge yet whether it would offend Lieutenant Little.” Crozier apologized. 

Jopson gave him a sideways look, still smiling faintly, “Sir, it’s one strange matter to invite me to tea privately, when we’re off duty, a far more frightening prospect to have me sit with the other officers and yourself on a ship. If you want me to do that, you’ll have to order me twice.” It was a mild, somewhat playful protest. 

Crozier grinned humorously and patted Jopson on the shoulder. “What if it’s just the two of us? Humm? The tea’s still warm.” 

They moved quietly and sat at the table, opposite one another. Jopson poured them both some tea while giving his Captain a studious look. 

“I’m dismayed I didn’t see you at the Naval academy in Kent before we set off. I was starting to worry you hadn’t gotten my letter.” 

“Shouldn’t you have conducted your interview with lieutenant Little there, sir? Before we headed off?” 

“He was there, but he said he was too busy at the time. Where were you?” 

“I had a matter to tend to regarding a previous colleague, sir.” 

“Why not tell me about that?” 

Jopson averted his eyes and said shyly, ‘It was a trifling matter sir.” 

“If it was so trifling then you should have been at the academy.” Crozier said, a hint of irritation in his voice. He sighed, “How much must I press you to tell me what you have been doing these past years? Don’t be so mysterious, is it really so private?” Crozier pleaded persistently. 

“Well, Sir... Urm... there was a certain maid at the previous household I was working at. A dark-skinned girl. Her name was Maria... she was only seventeen. I noticed our employers were exploiting her. They were quite cruel. I told her they’ve no right to treat her how they were doing, and no one is to be enslaved or exploited on British soil. So, I told her she should take the matter to court and if she didn’t have the confidence to go herself, I would come with her.” 

“I see. You were being heroic then. Did it all fall through?” Crozier asked, looking pleased now that he’d gotten his way. 

“Well the first time I offered she refused me. She was worried the matter may lose us both our jobs. It was only once I got your letter and convinced her I would be quitting soon that she agreed, which is why it was so recent that we had to be in the courts. It did all turn out well for her in the end. She got more than enough compensation to start looking for a new job.” 

“That’s good. Always the selfless fellow.” 

Jopson looked very embarrassed by the praise. 

“So, what was your previous job? Were you a man servant for a lord in some rich household?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Were you treated well, even if your friend was not so lucky?” 

“Quite well at first sir... but things became more difficult over time.” 

“Do you want to tell me about that?” 

“Well... I got the job just after... well last summer anyway.” Jopson looked sad. “I needed it to keep my brother out of the workhouse. It was recommended by an old friend who’d become the butler at that estate, his name was Allen Wakes, he turned out to be an incey....” 

“A what, lad?” 

“An incey; that's a word for a servant that helps thieves. They know where all the best stuff is and can leave doors unlocked on the night of the heist. I didn’t know Mr Wakes was an incey at the time, sir, but one night I was fed up with my employers for how Maria was being treated, and these two children got into the house to steal some things. And I didn’t say anything. I guess I felt sorry for them. They were small, bruised and dirty, their blond hair looked like it had been butchered with a knife or something. They were too young for me to tell if they were girls or boys. It was Maria who caught them thieving Lady Brooknell’s jewels, but they escaped before Lord Brooknell could get a bullet in either of them. He was a terrible shot anyway. But after that Lord Brooknell was convinced of my incompetence and kept calling me... stupider than a... well worse than Maria anyway.” 

Captain Crozier blinked at Jopson in astonishment. 

“Lord Brooknell used to hit me after that and get me to fetch and fix things just so he could throw them about and break them again. I could understand Maria a bit better then. Once one is harassed in such a manner... all one keeps telling one’s self is that it’s not as bad as the workhouse. You start losing the guts to stick up for yourself; as long as you get food, shelter and pay.” 

“He was treating you worse than a dog!” Crozier exclaimed, horrified. 

“Well, he has Mr Wakes to contend with now.” Jopson shrugged and smiled, “My old friend is far less patient than I. If you do find yourself in need of a butler when you retire after we’ve completed the passage, sir. Do not hire a lanky blond man about my age called Allen Wakes.” 

“I should like to hire you instead.” Crozier jumped at the opportunity to say. 

Jopson squirmed in his seat and laughed nervously. “Well... I would like to continue to serve in the navy, sir, but if you call for me, I will always come.” 

“What do you say to the prospect of staying on Terror and becoming lieutenant Little’s steward after I retire?” 

“Not a pleasant thought, sir; he’ll look down his long nose at me all day.” 

Crozier laughed at this. 

“Thank you very much for confiding in me, Jopson. I've missed your stories the most.” 

“Urm... I wouldn’t wish to press you to divulge too much, sir, but would it bring you any relief to tell me about what you have been doing the past two years?” Jopson inquired hopefully. 

“I’m old and boring, Jopson. I’ve not been having exciting adventures with exotic women and insider butler thieves like you have. I’ve just been focusing on my career and... well... trying to win the confidence of a dear and trusted friend... she is the reason I came back to Terror. I won’t tell you more than that.” 

Jopson nodded quietly. 

“What do you have in your pocket?” Crozier asked. He gestured towards Jopson’s right lapel; a bit of paper was sticking out from the inside of the jacket. “Regulations require stewards not to carry personal items in their pockets.” 

“Sorry, sir.” Jopson took the previously opened envelope out and fiddled with it in his hands. “I just haven’t found a secure place for it yet... it’s my ticket out of purgatory, I want to keep it always close to me.” 

“Purgatory? You hate being off a ship that much, do you?” Crozier asked, seeing that it was the letter he had sent Jopson, requesting his return to Terror. 

“This is very important to me, sir.” Jopson said earnestly. 

Two bells, Jopson stood up, holding the envelope in both hands. “I have to report to Mr Helpman now, I’ll be back to tend to you shortly, Captain.” Jopson said nervously. He knuckled a salute and hurried out. 

After Edwin Helpman familiarized Jopson with the ships' itinerary and replenished stores, Jopson was sent to go back to Captain Crozier to get him ready for a trip to Erebus, where he’d be dining with the Erebite officers. 

This left Jopson to tend to a more casual officer’s meal on Terror, assisted by Terror’s officer’s steward, William Gibson. 

Afterwards, Jopson introduced himself more properly to Gibson and thanked him for his assistance. 

Gibson wiped down the silverware with a cloth and Jopson offered to help him in order to speed up the task. 

“What is that awful sound?” Jopson asked. 

“Lieutenant Hodgson brought a piano on board, sir.” 

“A piano?” Jopson asked in astonishment. 

While packing the silverware away the caulker's mate, Mr Hickey, who had been watching them both for a while now, decided to prowl up to Gibson and tap him on the shoulder. He probably thought Jopson couldn’t hear what he was whispering to Gibson. He gave them both a disgusted look. 

“Why the long face, Mr Jopson?” asked Mr Hickey with a smirk. “Don’t listen into private things or you’ll hear things out of context.” Hickey advised. 

Jopson averted his eyes and stood up. “Do you require help with anything else, Mr Gibson?” his voice was calm as always. 

“If you please, Mr Jopson, if you could relieve me for just five minutes, Mr Hickey needs my help with something.” Gibson requested hopefully. 

“Five minutes exactly, or you will have duty owing.” Jopson warned. 

“Thank you very much sir.” said Gibson. 

“Yes, thank you very much, Mr Jopson.” Hickey said with a mocking sneer whilst pulling Gibson away. 

Hodgson paused in his piano playing. 

“John, you can’t leave your fiancé just because she’s pregnant, and Edward agrees with me. Don’t you Edward?” Hodgson asserted and sipped his tea. 

“Stop including me.” Little requested firmly while finishing off shaving his chin. He took pride in keeping his large, chocolate coloured sideburns neat. 

Hodgson turned back to Lieutenant John Irving and stroked his arm sympathetically, the sleeves were rolled up, “The first thing you must do when you get back to England is marry her, John, it’s the Christian thing to do.” George pleaded with sparkling sky-blue eyes. 

“If you'd seen how she was screaming at me before I left you wouldn’t be saying that.” Irving insisted and shook his head. 

“But what about the baby?” 

“I’ll wait and see what god plans...” 

“But god doesn't help idol men!” 

“Didn’t we have some peanuts left over? Where did they go?” Edward interrupted impatiently, searching the cabin. 

“They went into John’s stomach. He eats more than that monkey on Erebus.” said Hodgson. 

“Perhaps ask Gibson to fetch some more?” Irving suggested. 

Little rang the bell. 

Jopson slid the door open, “Apologies, Lieutenants, Mr Gibson is indisposed. Can I get you anything? 

“Peanuts, if you please, Jopson.” Little replied. 

“Will there be anything else sirs?” 

“No, that will be all, thank you.” said Little. 

“Ah, wait, Jopson, I’d like to commission you to polish my boots, you’re clearly more skilled at it than Gibson!” Hodgson insisted eagerly. 

“Offer accepted, sir. Bring the boots to me when you want them cleaned.” 

“Thank you!” 

Jopson left. 

Little suddenly said, “I forgot something!" And excused himself hurriedly. 

Hodgson and Irving exchanged puzzled looks. 

Edward followed Jopson to the storeroom. 

“Mr Jopson...” 

“Is something wrong, lieutenant?” 

“You.... you remind me of a horse.” said Little timidly. 

“Excuse me, sir???” Jopson was very confused. 

“You know how they are? They are more noble than a dog but still in a pact of servitude with man? It.. must be your manner; you’re strong, elegant and quiet, like a horse. The way you busy yourself all day with tedious little tasks, and your main falls into your eyes like so.” Little carefully moved Jopson’s stray lock out of his eye and back behind his ear. 

“Did you hit your head? Should I fetch doctor MacDonald?” 

“No, I... I just wanted you to notice me.” Little muttered. 

“You’re mad.” Jopson laughed and shook his head. “...What’s your Christian name?” 

“Edward. What’s yours?” 

“Thomas.” 

Little patted Jopson on the shoulder and asked him Hopefully, “...do you want to have a smoke on the quarterdeck with me?” 

“Did you still want some nuts?” 

“Forget about them. Captain Crozier will be back from dinner on Erebus soon and then you’ll be unable to spend any time with me.” 

“What do you want?” 

“Just to get to know you better... to know you?” Little hesitated shyly. 

“We can’t be close, Edward, not a first Lieutenant and a Captain's steward.” Jopson insisted and shook his head again. 

“We’re not just our ranks.” Little insisted. 

“I am absolutely devoted to my job and you ought to be also. I’ll never be anything other than your subordinate.” Jopson said dismissively. 

Little looked saddened by this, he lowered his head. 

“But I will take you up on that smoke if you’ll lend me some tobacco. Mine has been had at by weevils.” 

Edward perked up. 

“Of course.” 

Little and Jopson were smoking their clay pipes quietly on deck; a strong wind blew their dark hair and coats about. 

Gulls were circling overhead and one of them landed on the bow next to Jopson and started squawking at him. 

“It’s that overzealous seagull again.” said lieutenant Little. 

“I think the other gulls are picking on him, he looks like a different kind to the others.” Jopson observed while looking at it. 

It went quiet and hopped onto his shoulder. 

“He’s taken a fancy to you.” 

“I’m going to call him ‘Edward’.” 

“Oh, come now, Thomas, now you’re just tormenting me.” Little laughed. 

“Do you have a better name?” 

“Don’t try to make a pet out of it, shoe it away before it soils your uniform.” Little advised. 

They watched as the large white bird hopped from Jopson’s shoulder and up onto a higher part of the ship. 

It started raining. Jopson sighed and put his pipe out. 

On their way back in Jopson came down the ladder first. Little stayed out to watch the sky a moment before following him. 

Gibson was at the bottom of the ladder and he complained, “Jopson, you couldn’t have stuck around to take care of the officers a little longer? Irving’s got a shirt that needs mending and he’s chastised me over it.” 

“Fix it yourself, I was with lieutenant Little.”Jopson replied, refusing to ingratiate Gibson with eye contact. 

“I see.” Gibson said passive aggressively. 

“You had enough time to assist Mr hickey, I’m sure.” Jopson tried to ignore him and leave. 

"Are you implying something?” Gibson asked defensively, blocking Jopson’s path. 

Little gave Gibson an intimidating glance that made the officer’s steward shrink; he hadn’t noticed the Lieutenant had come down the ladder until then. 

“Mind your own tasks, Gibson.” Little warned. 

Gibson saluted the lieutenant. 

Little and Jopson left in opposite directions, with separate duties to attend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is vaguely inspired by The Darjeeling Limited, hence the title.
> 
> I'd come up with a story for what Jopson was doing in the time between his mother's death and returning to Terror, and I wasn't sure what to do with it, doing a chapter with these OC's didn't feel like the right route but at the same time he clearly doesn't like telling Crozier stuff about himself. I just went with Crozier being really genuinely curious about what Jopson's been doing cause he missed him, so Crozier just insists that Jopson tells him what his previous job was like.
> 
> Incey is just a non-sense old English word, I couldn't find any examples of accurate 1800's London slag referring to a servant that assists in robberies. 
> 
> Slavery was abolished by the British empire in 1833 and I just wanted to make a subtle reference to that. I've been trying to work in references to various big historical events in order to make the world seem bigger.


	6. Undulating

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Primarily Jopson and Irving focused chapter; Terror and Erebus sail through a minor storm and Irving and Jopson get drunk and tie themselves to the fore-mast. Featuring Protective-Lt Little and moody-Cpt Crozier.

At dawn, Thomas Jopson climbed up the foxhole and stuck his head out to look around. The north Atlantic sea was unusually calm. 

He saw two men on watch at either end of the ship, staring across the still water, to the golden haze on the horizon. Above, one man slumped sleepily in the crow's nest and three gulls hovered. 

The silence was interrupted by boot falls running past Jopson along the deck. Lieutenant Irving was hurrying from one end of the ship to another. Irving stopped nearby and looked through his telescope at something that must have been terribly important. 

Irving sighed; he wasn’t seeing clearly what it was he wanted to see. He jumped atop the bow and held the rigging to steady himself. He looked again. Still dissatisfied, further up the rigging he clambered. 

Jopson quietly came up on deck and climbed up the rigging after him. “Lieutenant Irving, may I ask what you are looking at, sir?” Jopson asked. 

“A devil of a storms' on its way!” Irving replied. 

“May I see it?” 

“Come up higher to see over the mist!” Irving ordered. He also moved to make way for Jopson and passed him the spy glass. “The awfully black bubbly clouds, just there.” Irving pointed to where Jopson should look. 

“Amazing... I can see the lightning in it... do you think it will catch us?” 

“By tonight I’d wager. We’re moving away from it but it’s going to follow us.” 

“Are you also fond of this feeling of insignificance in the face of god, Lieutenant?” 

“Elaboration, if you please.” 

“A great storm approaches, and there’s nothing we can do about it. It excites you.” 

“It’s not so bad as to be a threat to the ships, but it’ll shake the men about, you and Gibson will have a chore cleaning the sick up.” Irving predicted. 

Jopson returned Irving’s glass and gave him a happy “Thank you, sir.” 

“I didn’t pin you for an early bird, Mr Jopson.” Irving said with surprise and approval. 

Jopson giggled, “I swear, that you and Lieutenant Hodgson are the sole witnesses to the one time in my life I have ever been late for anything. I can’t believe it was this of all things. I’ll never let anything come between me and the ocean ever again.” Jopson avowed. 

Irving looked at him in surprise for a moment and blinked. “...Me neither.” he eventually agreed, but with a contemplating sigh. He hadn’t let his fiancé get in the way of that either, but he still wasn’t sure it was the right thing to do. 

Irving decided he could best push those troubling thoughts from his mind by staring at the swirling blackness of the storm through his spy glass again. 

“I asked the Captain last night what he wanted for breakfast, and as usual he has no preference. I think there’s something wrong with his tongue, he says everything tastes bad.” 

“It must be all that whiskey.” Irving scoffed. 

“I was wondering what sort of food you like to eat, sir?” 

“If I had my way, we'd eat nothing but biscuits and marmalade.” Irving laughed. 

"The officers would have no teeth by next month! No, we’re having something healthy... fish it is then, sir.” Jopson reported and started down the rigging. 

“He’s worse than my mother.” Irving muttered to himself. 

Jopson went below and passed the officer’s menu onto Mr Diggle. 

Since he was in the kitchen, he retrieved a jug of hot water and a clean towel, then he let himself into the Captain’s cabin. He poured the water in the wash basin there and knocked three times on Crozier’s bedroom door. 

“Are you awake, sir?” 

“Go away...Hang over.” Came a faint grumble from within. 

“Are you coming to breakfast?” 

“Come back in fifteen minutes.” 

“But sir, you will be sleepier if you try to get an extra fifteen, it’s always the case.” Jopson warned him gently. 

“Oh, I suppose you’re right, as usual.” the Captain groaned. 

Jopson moved to fetch the Captain’s boots and draws. 

The Captain stumbled out of his bed cabin, over to the basin, with his hair a mess, dark circles around his eyes and a sheen of cold sweat on his pail skin. 

Jopson was concerned by the more depressed and sleepless look Crozier had acquired. 

As Jopson helped Crozier dress and tidy up he noticed the Captain seemed quieter, meeker than he remembered. 

Usually the captain had no trouble unloading his complaints onto Jopson; knowing the steward would keep the Captain’s opinions to himself and offer him a little encouragement in return. 

Crozier fumbled helplessly with his cravat until Jopson offered to help him with that too. 

“Did you have trouble sleeping last night, sir? Doctor MacDonald will have something for that, I’m sure.” 

“Right.” 

“...You seem very troubled, sir. More troubled than during the Ross expedition, if I may be so bold.” Jopson observed timidly. 

“A lot troubles me.” Crozier sighed. 

“A problem shared is a problem halved, Captain.” 

“Where do I start...?” 

“Start with whatever pains you the least to share, sir.” 

“.... Did I tell you my father was an attorney at law?” 

“You’ve never mentioned him, sir.” 

“He was good at his job... Many lords and rich gentlemen wanted him on their side. They knew they could get away with anything if they bought him enough Gin. Those above me who’s example I was meant to follow have far too often been a corrupt lot.” Crozier grumbled and sneered to himself. 

Jopson tried to formulate a decent response. 

It wouldn’t serve to contradict the captain, nor would it help to reinforce his bad mood by agreeing with him. 

He wondered if it was something that had transpired on Erebus yesterday which had left Crozier in a contemptuous mood. 

“Sir, may I ask, when did you begin to feel that way?” 

“... When I left home, I suppose... no I still had a romanticized view of the world for a while after that... I think it was... Pitcairn Island.” 

“You’ve told me about Pitcairn Island, sir.” 

“I didn’t tell you all... I haven’t told anyone all.” Crozier laughed under his breath; his brows remained furrowed with distress. “Some of the mutineers from the HMS Bounty were driven by desperation and some unfathomable madness, to molest and butcher and even eat their own offspring; the children they had with the Tahiti women they brought with them to the island. I was but a lad of fifteen when I found some of the last mutineers... I tried to understand them. I couldn’t. What drives a man to such barbarism, I’ll never know. I can at least take some solace in knowing our homelands do not bear witness to it.” 

“I’m afraid such things still happen in the underbelly of London, sir.” 

“Well that’s just London.” Crozier scoffed. “I don’t understand how you can live in that place.” 

“I wonder what you looked like when you were fifteen?” Jopson looked up ponderously, trying to picture it. 

Crozier chuckled lightly at this, finally offering Jopson a weak smile. “I was never a handsome lad, I’ll tell you that.” 

“I find that hard to believe, sir.” 

“Jopson, don’t push it.” Crozier laughed and shook his head. 

After serving and presiding over breakfast he cleaned Croziers bed Cabin and wardroom. He delighted in making himself so useful. 

His next chore was to figure out how to get the Newfoundland to take a bath. He’d gotten the tub, soap and brush and prepared, to Neptune’s great horror. 

Jopson tried several times to call the big black dog to hop into the tub. Neptune was at least well behaved enough not to bark or try to run away when he was called, but he lingered nearby, lowered his head, stared pleadingly up at Thomas and whined sadly. 

When Thomas persisted, Neptune decided to press his shiny black nose against the wall and close his eyes, thinking if he couldn’t see Jopson or the tub, they would go away. 

Losing patience, Jopson tried to pick up the dog, but Neptune hopped easily out of Jopson’s arms when the door to the cabin opened. 

Lt Little came in and asked where Captain Crozier was. Jopson didn’t register the question, he was angry with Neptune for slinking away to hide behind the lieutenant’s legs. 

“Now Neptune, you’re not going to get out of this by hiding behind Edward.” Jopson warned the dog. 

The steward was squatting by the tub with his trouser legs and sleeves rolled up. Little took note of the porcelain skin, chinked only by a nasty scar on the lad’s right leg. 

Jopson continued to call Neptune and eventually, after getting a belly rub from the lieutenant, the dog settled. 

Jopson got to work and apologized to Little, “I’m sorry, what was it, Lieutenant? 

“Captain Crozier is to consult the officers about the storm on its way.” 

“Do keep your voice down, sir, please, the Captain is asleep in his chambers.” 

“Asleep!? It’s the middle of the day!?” Edward exclaimed. 

“He’s sort of nocturnal, sir. He can’t sleep at night or stay awake in the day I’m afraid. I think being on so many expeditions to the poles can do that to a man. But he can usually attend all the necessary meetings.” Jopson informed Little tenderly. 

“Wake him up.” Little grumbled, looking very distressed by the news his Captain could be so slothful. 

The lieutenant ran his fingers back through his dark brown hair. 

“If you please, sir, I’m a little preoccupied at the moment.” Jopson pleaded while trying to keep Neptune in place. The dog licked the lad’s face a few times. 

“Will he be wrathful if I wake him up?” 

“That depends, sir.” 

“Depends on what?” 

“I think you’d better let me do it. I’ll only be another ten minutes with Neptune.” 

Little sighed and sat on top of the table. He picked up one of the Captain’s paper weights, a small, white marble globe, and tossed it from hand to hand while watching the steward bathe the dog. 

Jopson occasionally eyed the lieutenant. 

Little shifted some papers on the table around to have a peak at them. He pulled out a paper that caught his eye and muttered to himself with a curious tone, “Confirmation of Nicolaus Copernicus’s astrological theories, and further modifications and additions by Francis Rawdon Moira Crozier. Who was Copernicus again?” 

“A polish renaissance astronomer, sir. He was one of the first men to theorize and observe that the sun was just another star and that the other stars are suns, possibly with globes similar to Earth revolving around them, sir.” 

Little stared at Jopson, his mouth agape. 

Jopson looked up at him and gave him a warm smile. 

“Where did you learn that?” Little asked. 

Jopson was about to answer when the Captain’s voice boomed from beyond the door to his bed compartment; “Jesus Christ will you two keep it down!” 

Jopson and Little both jumped in fright at this. 

They froze and stared at each other for a moment. 

“Sorry Captain!” Jopson yelped. 

“Captain, you must assemble an officers meeting at your soonest possible convenience!” Edward called in his baritone. “Also, Erebus is signalling. Sir John reminds you to make the necessary preparations for the bad weather.” 

In response Crozier emitted a drawn-out roar of tired frustration. “Doesn't he know I can handle my own god-damn ship!” 

Jopson rubbed Neptune's fur dry and beckoned for Little to leave while he ensured the Captain was presentable for the meeting. 

Shortly after little left, Crozier came out of his cabin. He was mostly prepared; Jopson only needed to fix his epaulettes. 

“Don’t go about showing off your cleverness, trying to impress people, Jopson. The lieutenants only like you because they feel no sense of competition with you.” Crozier advised. 

“You’re right, I’m sorry, sir.” 

“You’re reading in your spare time instead of fraternizing with your comrades aboard. Starting to shape up to be a poor petty officer indeed.” 

Jopson paused, he trembled with the pain of the criticism. “I’m doing my best for you, sir, truly I am.” He swallowed, got his nerves back and finished with the second epaulette. He smoothed parts of the Captain’s collar down. 

“It is a petty officer’s primary function, to be an intermediary between the classes on board. He must know how to communicate with both the lower-class sailors and the upper-class officers” 

“Of course sir. You told me the same thing in 39, sir.” 

“An upper-class officer and a lower-class sailor will usually find it very difficult to understand each other and communicate without the aid of a petty officer. The lieutenants will never be able to fathom what makes their lower service men jump at the chance to get syphilis from a doxy or chase the too-young native girls about the islands we stop at supplies for.” 

“Likewise, the lower navy men won’t understand what pleasure Irving derives from the storm clouds or what Little collects insects for, sir.” 

“Yet you appear to hate interacting with your own class.” Crozier looked at Jopson with a raised eyebrow. 

“I don’t hate anything, sir. I just don’t get any pleasure from it. It’s not a matter of class, sir.” 

Crozier was serious and quiet for a moment. Jopson watched him expectantly. 

“Urm... would you like me to assemble the men here for the meeting, sir?” Jopson asked. 

Crozier moved to his bookshelf and fetched a black, leather-bound addition. He handed it to his steward. 

“Here, this is about the Barbary slave trade. Page 250, you’ll like that story. It’s about an Icelandic boy who was abducted by Turks. He was sold to a market in England where a ship's captain bought him. The captain made the lad his steward, but the boy turned out to be far smarter than his master. He taught his captain how to read and write in English, Icelandic and Greek. He also spoke of a land far to the west where grapes grow in abundance, this was several decades before Columbus discovered America.” 

“Th... thank you... Captain... this is... a surprise.” Jopson gushed. 

Crozier smiled at the lad and patted his shoulder. “Go and assemble the officers, now.” 

“Consider it done, sir.” 

That evening, while the storm rocked Terror about, Jopson presided over the meal he served in the wardroom to the Captain, Lieutenants and Doctor Mac Donald. The classic coping strategy for dealing with the anxiety of a rough sea is to have a light meal of biscuit and salt-meats, accompanied by copious amounts of alcohol. 

Jopson had to run around stopping the plates from sliding off the table when the room undulated too far one way or another. He also had to wipe up any spills from the drinks. 

Crozier decided to go back to his cabin and get more sleep once he’d partially nibbled his food. 

Doctor Mac Donald did not drink, “I have to be sharp tonight, in case anyone gets hurt while things jostle about in this storm.” He explained and politely excused himself once he'd eaten a few pieces of meat, skipping the biscuit. He did not want to become a sober spectator of the Lieutenants’ drinking session. 

That honor would be solely Mr Jopson’s. 

The drunken conversation devolved into a Hodgson and Little dominated discussion, about how one tells the differences between things, mostly animals verses people. 

Little came up with a consensus Hodgson agreed upon; “We mainly identify each other based on our faces. Animals don’t necessarily have different faces like humans do, but they do have other parts of the body you can look at to distinguish between them.... ordinarily a person does not need to tell the difference between individual rabbits for example, he needs only to know, that is a rabbit. When you come across a crowd of people you don’t know and you do not need to interact with them you regard them just as a crowd of faceless people, don’t you? The same thing happens when you see a herd of cows or a flock of gulls, if you wanted to pick out one as a pet then you might inspect the individuals more thoroughly and notice what makes them unique, but if you are going about your everyday business then all you need to know is what the basic outline of a man, a seagull and a tree look like." 

“Alas! We have cracked Plato's cup!” Hodgson concluded enthusiastically. 

Jopson looked worried, “What sir, did you damage some crockery?” 

This made Hodgson and Little laugh. 

“No, Thomas,” said Edward, “We’re talking about the Plato’s cup analogy!” 

“Do you know Plato, the Philosopher, Mr Jopson?” Hodgson asked. 

Jopson shook his head. 

Edward explained, “’Plato's cup’ is the assertion that mentally everyone has an idea of a perfect version of any object.” 

“I don’t really understand, sir.” 

Little pulled gently on Jopson’s sleeve to have him sit down in the empty chair beside him, and he tried to explain a bit more while pouring Jopson a drink. 

“To challenge Plato’s theory, one of his outliers, a man called Diogenes, asked Plato if a cup had a perfect form, and Plato said, yes, even a cup has an ideal state of being, a perfect form. I always thought the idea was nonsense, but Hodgson is proposing that what ‘perfect form’ is really referring to is the basic outline of a thing, like a shadow, conjured by a word. Even though there is never just one version of a thing, people have a basic outline that encompasses that thing across multiple forms.” Little turned to look at Hodgson, “But George... surely this phenomenon is a branch of the psychology of language?” 

“Yes, that’s why language is such a creative tool. It’s especially pleasurable to know more languages; when you learn a new language, you learn a whole new way of seeing the world.” 

“You’re both so weird when you’re drunk.” Lieutenant Irving giggled lightly and looked between his superiors with round, confused, blue eyes. He had lost any grasp on what Edward and George where talking about. 

“You’re closer to the bottom of your fifth glass than we are my good chap!” Hodgson laughed. 

Irving stood up and steadied himself against the wall. “Your layman’s discussion about phenomenology is driving me up the wall, sirs. I’m going to take my leave.” he slurred giddily. 

Jopson was more than halfway through his drink now and he looked up at Irving, who was feeling for the sliding wood panel on the wall. Edward put his muscled arm over Jopson’s shoulders and Jopson gave him an incredulous look that Little didn’t register. 

“Oy, John, how many angels dance on a pin head?” Little asked the younger of the Lieutenants mockingly. 

“Infinity.” Irving replied with a grin. 

“How'd you reckon that one out?” Edward scoffed humorously. 

“Because angels can do anything!” Irving announced cheerily, like the carefree boy he was when he had a few pints in him. “Blast, I can’t find that damn hatch...” 

Jopson wriggled out from under Little’s arm and hurried to assist Irving. 

Without thinking to question it, Jopson found himself being guided out of the wardroom by the third lieutenant. 

Irving closed the door and whispered to Jopson excitedly, “Do you trust me?” 

“I must, sir, I am under your orders.” Jopson replied quietly. 

“Do you want to do something fun? It’ll be dangerous.” 

“Sir?” 

“I’m not asking the others because Little is over-cautious, and Hodgson doesn't have the stomach for it. But this is much more fun with a second party.” 

“But what is it you wish to do, sir?” 

“We’re going to experience the storm.” 

“But... aren’t we already feeling it? It’s been tossing us around all evening?” Jopson questioned in confusion. 

“I mean we’re going to go up on deck and see and feel it properly!” 

Jopson visibly paled, “You’re right! That is dangerous! One strong wave could knock us right over-bored, sir!” 

Irving gripped both of Jopson’s hands and spoke eagerly, “Not if we tie ourselves to the mast!” he assured. 

“I... I don’t know about this, sir. It sounds too risky to me.” 

Irving persisted with an enthusiastic whisper; “But that’s why it’s so much fun, Jopson!” he exclaimed. “Come now, you’ve been at sea for over a decade, yet you still haven't experienced a real storm! You’ve never ridden a wave! You’ve always just huddled up in the Captain’s cabin like a pet! You don’t know what you’ve been missing!” 

The gulls where tossed paper in a storm, flashes of white in the grey, tumbling as they struggled against the gale. Beneath them the sea rose as great mountains, anger in the form of water, turbulent and unforgiving. 

Irving and Jopson tasted the salt carried by the violent wind on their lips, both cowered in anticipation as the ship climbed a steep slope of water that blocked out the sky. 

The rush of adrenaline hit the drunken lieutenant early and he already began to howl with excitement. 

Jopson stared at the wall of water with wide, frightened eyes, frozen. 

He reminded himself that if the storm were to turn out to be more devastating than Irving had predicted, they would be doomed to a watery grave no matter which part of the ship they were on. 

It was also reassuring that they were not the only men on deck; there was a scant crew of essential able seamen still working to keep Terror steady, and laughing as the ocean clawed at them, as if receiving playful swipes from a tamed beast. 

Around the time Irving started laughing again, Jopson stopped pulling at the ropes and stared in a state of disbelief at the sky, now angled at unnatural degrees; straight ahead. They were rotating forwards, on the peak of the great wave. 

It was on the roll downwards, plummeting with speed, that Jopson finally felt the rush. He joined Irving in laughing and screaming at the furious ocean. 

As the ship’s beak collided once more with the water, a thick ocean spray dowsed them both. They shook the cold brine from their hair. 

Another climb was beginning when lieutenant Little came out of the foxhole with a rope around his middle and started shouting at them over the gale. 

“Irving! Jopson! Get back below at once!” 

Jopson looked scared as the angry first lieutenant approached the foremast. 

“Irving! You idiot! You know better than to wonder up here while drunk!” 

“Everyone’s drunk, sir!” Irving snapped back, still finding the situation funny. 

“How could you bring poor Mr Jopson up here with you!? He’s a Captain’s Stewart for Christ's sake! You’ll give him a heart attack!” 

“I’m not so delicate as all that, Edward!” Jopson protested and pouted with mild offence. 

“I’m taking you down!” 

Little used the mast to steady himself and started untying Jopson from it. 

Little put his arm around Jopson’s waist and tried to pull him back to the foxhole. 

The next wave came with a jolt that sent Little and Jopson flying forwards. Jopson felt another dowse from the icy Atlantic and the sting of the back of his head hitting the deck. 

He might have been carried overboard by that wave if it weren’t for Little holding onto him and pinning him to the ground. 

They stumbled onto their feet and towards the foxhole with their arms around each other. Another wave had them loose their footing and take on a mouth full of sea water. 

Tugging hard at the rope, little saw that it had come loose from it’s not around the ladder. How could one of his knots come loose?! 

Little panicked then, but Irving had seen the troubles unfolding and loosened himself enough to take Little’s hand and help his shipmates below. 

Little realized Jopson had gone limp and he started to worry for the steward. He lay Jopson down near the foxhole ladder and had a look at him. 

Irving came down after them and undid the rope around his middle before closing the hatch. 

“Is he hurt?” Irving asked worriedly as he stood over them. 

Little ran his fingers through Jopson’s wet hair to see if there was any blood from when the lad bumped his head. 

Seeing his fingertips were clean, he checked the steward’s neck and wrist for a pulse. 

Little put his ear to Jopson’s mouth. “He’s not breathing! Go fetch Doctor MacDonald!” Little ordered, Irving took leave swiftly. 

Little had been told how to blow the water out of someone’s lungs at the naval academy, and he’d seen other people do it, but he wasn’t totally sure if he would manage it correctly...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Columbus discovered america 1492. Barbary slave trade was 16th to 18th century. The story of the icelandic/Greenlandic boy was something interesting I heard in a pub but I couldn't find sources on it. Presumably it was actually part of the general piracy slave trade of the 1400's, but I see no reason why the book Crozier gave Jopson might not involve this anecdote as part of a broader subject on Icelandic slaves. This plot line was endearing anyway, so I'm keeping it. Covers the theme of Crozier respecting Jopson even though he's his servant. This is also meant to hint at the subject of the disappearance of the Greenland vikings. Presumably, many suffered the same fate as the men of the lost Franklin expedition. 
> 
> This is not a historical document, it's just what I'm doing for fun while self isolating.


	7. Niffelheim

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some extra Jopson-centric scenes set across the first three episodes of the series: Blanky tries to spook Jopson and Irving with some Icelandic folklore; Irving asks Jopson what to do about Hickey; Irving tells Little to be nicer to Jopson and stop giving him extra work; I see that during Franklin's death Jopson and Irving were just left chilling on Terror together; Jopson stumbles upon Crozier's resignation letter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m working in this take on Jopson and Little in which Little is too shy and flustered around Jopson to help him. Little realises he needs to change for Jopson’s sake, and he will try, but we all know in the end Little didn’t have the heart to help him when he needed it most.
> 
> Mouth to mouth resuscitation was officially 'invented' in the 1950's but I figured someone who's had experience stopping people from drowning and choking would have a good idea how to get stuff out of the lungs. By 'invented' it seems to mean perfected and made an official medical technique as opposed to just an instinctual reaction like it is in this case.

The sight of Jopson lying unconscious and soaked through on the floor like that, with lieutenant Little kneeling over him looking confused and flustered, sprung Captain Crozier into immediate, intuitive action. 

The Captain knew at once that Jopson had water in his lungs and if it wasn’t forced out immediately the lad would die. 

Crozier knelt by Jopson and breathed into his mouth, then pushed on his chest. 

Jopson coughed violently and water spouted out from his mouth. He groaned and tried to role onto his side and cough some more. Crozier helped him sit upright and thumped the lad’s back to help him cough it out. 

So that’s how it’s done, thought Little. 

“Lieutenant Little, you can’t hesitate in a life and death situation. That’s one thing your exams won’t teach you.” Crozier informed the lieutenant gravely. 

Little looked ashamed. 

Jopson started to gag on vomit and Crozier helped ensure he wouldn’t get it on himself or in his lungs. 

“Get it all out lad, you’re alright now.” Crozier said sympathetically while patting and rubbing circles into the young steward’s back. 

“Sorry Captain... are you alright?” Jopson managed worriedly between coughs. 

“You're the one who nearly drowned, son.” Crozier laughed nervously. “How are you feeling?” 

“I drank too much, I’m sorry, Captain.” 

Crozier looked at Little angrily and Little lowered his head. 

Irving came back with MacDonald hurrying behind him, both were relieved to see Jopson awake and sitting upright. 

__________________________________________________________________________________ 

Skipping ahead to when Terror and Erebus get stuck in the ice.... 

Jopson had made a habit now of getting some air up on deck before his shift began. It put Lieutenant Irving in a good mood with him. 

Jopson and Irving walked around the deck together, looking at the ice. 

Snow crunched beneath their boots. 

The two men stopped on the quarterdeck to look at Erebus, frozen in place a few miles ahead of them. 

A gruff voice came from behind them, from Mr Blanky, sat in the lower shrouds, with a concerned squint. 

“If we'd sailed into Niffelheim, how would we know...?” the Ice Master said mysteriously. 

Jopson fixated his glaucous eyes on the older man. “What’s Niffelheim, Mr Blanky?” 

“The Icelandic whalers speak of a realm in which men find themselves if they die in their sleeps... an endless, freezing, white void. Populated by our fellow cowards, and man-eating monsters.” 

Irving smiled at Blanky, “And where are the monsters, I wonder?” he questioned, feeling clever. 

Blanky drew in some tobacco smoke from his clay pipe. “What if the cold was just too much for us? Maybe we all went in our sleeps and this is it.” 

“Terror’s insides are warm, Mr Blanky. With its central heating and living bodies.” Jopson pointed out. 

“He’s just trying to spook us with his pagan nonsense again.” Irving dismissed. 

“Pagan nonsense? No man ever mastered the ocean who didn’t know the names of Poseidon and Glaucus, of the Kraken and the World Serpent.” Blanky retorted forebodingly. 

Jopson grinned at Irving and said, “He’s good at it.” 

Blanky rubbed his sleeve over his frosted nose and bearded chin. 

Irving narrowed his eyes at the Ice Master, “God grants us many things, but he does not grant us sea monsters!” Irving insisted. 

“I’ve seen things you wouldn’t believe, Lieutenant.” Blanky refuted sharply and widened his purple-blue eyes like an owl. 

“When you’ve had too much tobacco and rum, maybe.” Irving scoffed and turned his head away to look at Erebus again. 

Blanky leaned back while clinging the rope so he could look upside down at the frozen ocean instead of the back of Irving’s head. 

Jopson marvelled at how Blanky was able to keep his pipe the right way up so the tobacco wouldn’t fall out. 

The first bell rang, Irving patted Jopson on the shoulder, “You'd better go and see to the Captain now.” 

Jopson gave him a nod and left. 

“He keeps forgetting to salute.” Irving remarked once Jopson was out of sight. 

“Who gave a shit?” Blanky replied, hanging upside down like a bat now, with his arms folded and his legs hooped into the rigging. 

Irving was about to respond with outrage when Hodgson, approaching from the gunnel, chearilly interceded; “Now-now, Mr Blanky, watch your language in front of lieutenant Irving. There’s a good gentleman.” 

“Ekki kalla mig herramann.” Blanky grumbled in icelandic. 

“Myndir þú vilja, 'saltur gamall sjóræningi'?" 

Blanky laughed heartily. 

Irving didn’t know Icelandic, and he was surprised that Hodgson had picked up so much of the language during their brief stay in Disko Bay. 

__________________________________________________________________________________ 

Translations from Icelandic: 

‘Don’t you call me a gentleman!’ 

‘Would you preferer “salty old pirate”?’ 

_________________________________________________________________________________ 

“Your seat of ease has a draft, sir.” Jopson pointed out with a masked nervousness while running the shaving knife carefully up the Captain’s neck and over his jaw. 

He knew Crozier wouldn’t try to speak to him during this part of the shave. 

“...Which means.... that you were sick in it all last night while holding the hatch handle open long enough for it to freeze that way...” 

Jopson finished one stroke of the knife and began another. 

“So, you drank that whole bottle since I put you to bed... You must have been up all night... retching. Why didn’t you ring the bell for me, sir?” 

Crozier waited for Jopson to take the blade away from his throat before replying; “I didn’t want you to see me like that.” 

Jopson washed the blade and gave Crozier a curious, innocent stare. 

“Why not, sir?” 

Crozier laughed with his mouth closed and gave a snort, 

“I could certainly scare the hell out of ye if ye came in while I was in such a stupor!” 

“You couldn’t do anything to scare me off, sir. Even if you tried to hit me, I’d understand that you were feeling uncomfortable by my presence and I’d stay out of the way until you were calm enough for me to help you.” Jopson started packing the shaving kit away. 

“I would never hit you.” Crozier said earnestly. 

“You’d miss, sir.” Jopson teased. 

“You rascal!” laughed the Irish Captain. 

“What would you do to scare me off, sir?” 

“Let’s see... I could take all the caps and corks of everything and mix them around, that always gives ye a headache.” 

“You’re a wicked Captain indeed.” 

__________________________________________________________________________________ 

“I was horrified to find Mr Hickey sharing a whiskey with our Captain.” Irving whispered. 

“Captain Crozier will offer anyone a drink as long as he can have one too, sir.” Jopson assured him softly. 

“But Hickey of all people!” Irving exclaimed. “Do you know what Hickey and Gibson have been doing?” 

“If what they’re doing is something that makes you uncomfortable, Lieutenant Irving, might I suggest you report it to the Captain?” 

“... I can’t.... being responsible for a flogging or a hanging would make me feel equally uncomfortable. I don’t know what to do. I liked Gibson and thought he was a good steward.... urm, not nearly as good as you of course." Irving added and blushed. 

“You can leave it with me, sir.” 

“If you told the captain right after me telling you this, and they got capital punishment, I’d still feel like it was my fault.” 

“Then I’ll not tell the Captain. Though I don’t think it would come as a shock if we did inform. Hickey is quite transparent. If Crozier isn’t already aware of the Caulkers mate’s perversions he soon will be, regardless of what we do. Perhaps Crozier already knows. Maybe he hasn’t found it a blatant enough excuse for a flogging. We have been out here for more than a year now, after all, Lieutenant. Most men find themselves needing some sort of sexual companionship in time.” Jopson reasoned. 

“But there are other things men can do to take their minds off such matters, Thomas!” Irving peeped with outrage. 

“I know that, but everyone’s different, aren’t they?” Jopson asked with a smile. 

“I haven’t required a companion of any sort on this ship, never mind in baser matters.” Irving scoffed. 

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were trying to extend an offer of friendship in my direction, sir.” 

“I…. I just wish somebody would call me John, that’s all.” said Irving shyly with his eyes downcast. 

“Having not heard one's first name in over a year can be painful too, I see.” 

“Not for you though?” 

“Find a way to despise the sound of something you once found pleasant, if you want to train yourself to live without it.” 

“Then… do you hate the sound of your own name?” 

“I just don’t need it anymore. I have willed myself free of all desires, other than to be useful to my Captain.” 

“Thomas…” 

_________________________________________________________________________________ 

Crozier was on deck, looking disappointedly at the mess those Erebites Sir John and Mr Reid had led their ships into and trying to formulate a plan to get out of it. 

Meanwhile; Jopson was in the dimly lit orlop, clearing away some dust that had accumulated behind the cables and spare netting. 

Two small objects caught his eye. They were thumb-sized ovular husks. Jopson held them in his open palm, blew the grey powder from them, revealing a shiny surface and the ripples on an insectoid cocoon. 

He heard someone coming down the ladder and stood up. 

“Edward, come and look at these.” Jopson called quietly from the shadows at the back of the room. 

“Is that you, Thomas?” Little asked, his eyes needed to adjust to the light. 

“It is, I found something you’ll like.” 

They met under the lamp in the middle of the room. It was almost out of oil. 

Jopson lifted his open palm out towards Little and the lieutenant steadied Jopson’s hand by cradling it in his own. 

“What are they?”Jopson asked. 

“chrysalides... they look like an Oceanial species of moth. They’ll have been picked up either in New Zealand or Australia.” 

“Do you think they could still be alive?” 

The weak red glow of the lamp failed, and the room turned dark, but they could still make out each other's hands and faces. 

“No, if they miss their season they die. They must have been in here for years. Even if they had been alive when we left England the cold would have killed them a long time ago.” Little explained. 

“I wonder if the cold’s killed all the spiders too.” Jopson pondered. 

“I hope so. I can’t stand arachnids.” 

“Really? But they get rid of flees, tics, lice, mosquitos, they’re really quite clean and helpful little things.” 

“I can see why you have an affinity with them.” Little chuckled. 

“Would you like to keep these then?” 

Someone else was coming down the ladder. 

Jopson looked over Little’s shoulder and saw that it was Lieutenant Irving coming into the Orlop, but Little didn’t bother to turn around. He stroked the cocoons in Jopson’s palm. 

“Is someone there?” Irving asked cautiously. 

Jopson realised that Irvings eyes hadn’t had time to adjust to the light yet, making out two shadows at the back of the Orlop and so close to the dead room must have been a spooky sight, even to a man with no belief in ghosts. 

"It’s only Lieutenant Little and I, sir.” Jopson reassured. 

“What on earth are you two doing together down here in the dark?!” Irving asked angrily. 

Jopson came towards Irving with the cocoons cupped in his hands. 

Irving flinched. 

“I was showing Lieutenant Little some chrysalides.” Jopson said innocently and showed Irving. 

Irving looked as if he was expecting to be assaulted until he heard this. Then he untensed and peeked with one eye, then two at the creatures in Jopson’s hand. 

The oil lamp started burning again for Little was putting more oil in it. “Please take those to my quarters, Mr Jopson, if you can manage.” Edward requested. 

“They look hideous.” Irving remarked. “Couldn’t they have parasites or diseases in them?” he questioned cautiously. 

“No, John, they’re quite safe. So long as you don’t stick your fingers in your mouth immediately after handling them anyway. It might be a good idea for you to wash your hands once you’ve put them away, Thomas.” 

“Yessir.” Jopson nodded. 

Irving and Little watched Jopson climb up the ladder one-handed without a struggle. 

Irving gave Little his usual wide-eyed stare of judgement. 

Little rolled his eyes and lit another of the lamps. 

“So, has he forgiven you over the time you nearly let him die of asphyxiation?” Irving asked. 

“No, we haven’t talked about that.” Little said, looking miserable. 

“You know... it’s not my place to say, sir...” 

“Then don’t say it, Irving.” Little ordered moodily. 

Irving looked surprised, then he narrowed his eyes at Little. “But I must say it, sir. You once told me you were fond of Mr Jopson, but I don’t think you’re much of a friend to him at all.” 

“What would you know about friends? Anchorite.” Little scoffed. 

“Not once have you apologised for neglecting to help him. He’s the captain’s steward, not yours. And yet you follow him around and have him do things for you without thanks. Yes, you can use your rank as an excuse for your tyranny, but you still seem to expect affection and loyalty from him without administering it yourself! He gives and you take. You can call me an anchorite but you're something worse. You’re a vulture.” Irving accused bitterly. 

Little fidgeted with gentlemanly outrage and questioned, “Has he divulged to you any feelings of underappreciation or exploitation?” 

“... not directly, sir.” 

“Then why are you getting involved?” 

“...I thought I could do something to help him.” 

“Help him? He’s absolutely contented. He likes making himself useful.” 

“He's not contented, he’s merely disciplined." Irving observed. “A man who refuses to complain on principle must be very easy to abuse.” 

The wrath in Little’s dark brown eyes was overtaken by shame, “...It never occurred to me that I might have distressed him with the extra workload. He never seems distressed about anything, says ‘yes’ to everything..." 

“I’m sorry I had to be so forward, sir.” 

“No... John... I understand what I’ve been doing wrong now.” 

__________________________________________________________________________________ 

Jopson was startled by the sound of distant gunfire and screaming as he was coming out of Little’s cabin. 

The Captain’s cabin was opposite to the First Lieutenant's so Jopson had to step aside and press his back to the wall when Captain Crozier rushed out of his quarters. 

Jopson knew at once that the Captain was going to go up on deck to see what the commotion outside was, this wasn’t the first time Crozier had tried to brave the arctic conditions with no layers beyond his shirt and vest. 

Jopson hopped into the Captain’s quarters to fetch his master’s coat and then chased after him with it. 

Snow was powdering the Terror’s deck; frost crystals and white flakes translucent in the Arctic light. 

Crozier put his tailcoat on as he walked along the portside bow, studying the more tuberous ice formations from which the sounds of a skirmish were emanating. 

Terror’s Lieutenants were already gathered there, along with able seaman Tom Hartnell from Erebus; he must have come across the ice to visit comrades on Terror; He appeared to have been speaking with Irving. 

Little was looking through a glass, “It’s coming from where the hunting blind was set up.” he observed. 

“They must be waltzing with that bear after all.” Hodgson tittered nervously. 

Jopson caught up with Crozier and the Captain let his manservant put his great coat on him. 

Crozier stood next to Little and they exchanged a concerned look. 

Little gave Crozier the spyglass. 

“Send our Marines!” Crozier shouted while looking in horror through the glass. 

With the cold, the metal of the spyglass fused to the flesh above Crozier’s eyelid and he gave a short yelp of pain as he tore some of the skin when he pulled it away. 

Crozier turned, with one eye closed and blood trickling over the lid, “Now!” he snapped. 

“Sir!” Irving hurried to assemble the marines. 

Jopson gave Crozier a kerchief to wipe away the blood from his eye. 

Blanky rushed up from below with two guns and gave one to Captain Crozier. “What say you to getting a head start?” asked the Ice Master. 

_________________________________________________________________________________ 

Jopson and Irving were left trying to make out what they could from Terror’s portside while sharing the spy glass. 

“Tom Hartnell told me the thing’s paw prints were more than sixty inches across. And it tore Lieutenant Gore to pieces with a single swipe of its claws.” Irving told Jopson shakily. 

“Blanky told me that most bears can kill a man with a single swipe. And a polar bear is even more powerful and is known to hunt humans for food." 

Henry Peglar overheard this and asserted, “I don’t think it is a polar bear.” 

“You were with Lieutenant Gore’s sledge party that night, did you see it, Peglar?” Irving asked. 

Jopson offered Peglar Irving’s spyglass. 

Peglar looked through it and replied, “I didn’t, sir. But from the footprints and the carnage... well actually it was Mr Bridgens who deduced that it was likely an ancient breed of bear... one thought to be extinct. Or possibly another kind of large predatorial mammal. It may be more of a wolf or a tiger-like creature. So far it’s method of stalking and ambushing has been quite like that of an Amur tiger. This isn’t the right geography for one of those, mind. But what I mean to say, sir, is that there are known and living examples of intelligent and formidable maneaters.” 

Peglar offered to return the spyglass to Jopson but the steward silently gestured that he returns it to Irving. 

“It wouldn’t come onto the ship, would it?” Irving asked worriedly. “I mean, most animals like bears and tigers know humans are dangerous and keep their distance, right?” 

Peglar shook his head, “It’s a mystery, of course, sir. But if the creature's psychology is anything like an Amur tiger’s it will not be afraid of us, and if we wound it but let it live, it will kill us no matter what we do.” Peglar assured. 

“Captain Crozier will see it felled.” Jopson said confidently. 

Peglar shook his head in disbelief. 

“Have faith in our Captain.” Jopson assured. 

“How can you be so calm?” Peglar asked. 

“Crozier and the others will need something warm to drink when they get back, so I’m off to sort something out for them. Bye, now.” Jopson waved his hand and smiled warmly as he took his leave. 

“He’s barmy, sir.” Peglar remarked in astonishment. 

Irving laughed, “He’s alright.” 

_________________________________________________________________________________ 

In the Captain’s cabin, while collecting the used teacups back into their set to be cleaned, Jopson observed the unfinished document Captain Crozier had been composing before he left. 

Jopson’s eyes widened and he dropped one of the teacups with a smash. 

He was looking at a Letter of resignation. 

Jopson leaned closer and continued to read. 

After observing the list of the expeditions eight most able-bodied men, a list of supplies, some ticked off, and a map with a rout south drawn onto it, Jopson deduced that Crozier was planning to walk out, across the ice to get help. 

He wondered if he should ask to accompany the Captain, for his name was not on the list. 

But Crozier would surely need him. 

He arrived at the decision not to confront Crozier about it, lest it anger his Captain that he was aware of things he should not be. 

And what if he was mistaken? And he let on that he was so eager to join in the mutany. 

That would be a disaster. 

As Jopson shakily picked the shards of porcelain from the floor, he avowed to himself that if Crozier tried to leave without him, he would follow him no matter what it took. He would not be left on this ship without his duties and his beloved Captain to tend to. 

“Where are all the others?” Jopson inquired while Mr Genge and Mr Gibson saw to the two frozen Lieutenants. 

“The Marines are conducting a sweep for the wounded and dead. Something... very grave has transpired.” Edward said stiffly. His face was reaching levels of beaten-dog misery that Thomas Jopson hadn't thought possible on a man of Little’s standing. 

“Captain Crozier and Mr Blanky are on Erebus.” Hodgson uttered with tragedy and exhaustion. 

“Are they alright?” Jopson asked, some concern penetrating his usually calm exterior. 

“They weren’t physically hurt, if that’s what you're inquiring.” said Hodgson. 

“The bear had fled before we arrived. Probably when it spied Captain Fitzjames and his party approaching.” Little informed. 

“Would you like tea in the mess, sirs?” Jopson asked, now that they were in dryer clothes. 

“Yes please.” whimpered Little. 

“Here, here.” Hodgson said with a smile. 

“It’s all prepared already so you can go ahead, sirs.” 

“Won’t you serve us?” Little asked hopefully. 

“I’ll tend to you shortly, sirs.” 

__________________________________________________________________________________ 

At tea, Jopson heard from the Lieutenants what had become of poor Sir John. 

With John Franklin dead, Fitzjames was promoted to Captain of the Erebus and Crozier became the sole master and commander of the expedition. 

And his first declaration as ruler; get pissed. 

Jopson was stunned by Crozier’s stony silence that Evening. They didn’t exchange a word until after supper, when Jopson was tidying up the Captain's cabin. 

That accursed resignation letter was still lying atop the writing desk, burning a hole in the back of Jopson’s skull; he was determined to appear oblivious to it. 

Crozier was hunched over apishly in his chair, brooding in darkness, staring at the wall. 

And Jopson stared at him. 

“...You’re unusually quiet this evening, Captain?” Jopson spoke carefully. 

“...did you feed Neptune yet?” Crozier asked in a weak, hoarse voice. 

“Not yet sir. He was whining at me hungrily, but I couldn’t figure out what he was trying to say, sir.” Jopson said with a grin. 

“After you’ve fed him you can get me another bottle of whiskey.” Crozier growled. 

“Yes sir.” 

“I want to drink myself blind and not stare at that damned Ice anymore.” 

“Yes sir.” 

Jopson bit his lip and approached Crozier slowly. 

He was a little frightened to proceed with what he did next. 

The steward put his bare hand against the captain’s cold, damp, weathered cheek. 

Crozier made no response at all, as if he hadn’t felt it, as if he didn’t realize his servant was there. 

Jopson's hand ghosted over the skin. He lifted Crozier’s chin up gently and inspected the small wound over the Captain’s eye. 

Crozier winced slightly as Jopson applied herbal ointment to the tear. 

“Would you like a blind fold with that, sir?” Jopson asked when he brought the Captain another bottle. 

“What for?” Crozier grunted. 

“You did say you wanted to drink yourself blind, sir.” 

The Captain was not amused. "Pour me a glass!” he demanded impatiently. 

Jopson obeyed quietly. 

He watched the captain for a moment before speaking again. 

“Sir, where do you keep your spyglass?” Jopson asked softly. 

“…in my great coat pocket, why?” Crozier questioned snappily. 

“I could sew a cover for it, so it doesn't tear at your skin in future, sir.” Jopson offered. 

“I never want to use that confounded contraption again.” Crozier grumbled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like writing Jopson and Irving and I could totally see Irving telling Little to back off. They’re so innocent but at the same time opposites cause Irving’s easily shocked and appalled but Jopson’s always calm and accepting. 
> 
> Hartnell! Why are you always on Terror!? You are an Erebite! 
> 
> A note about mid Victorian's awareness of cold: Hypothermia was not discovered till the late Victorian era, so from these character's perspective all they know is if you get too cold you 'stop'. Like a broken watch. Adds context to Mr Hornby's death.
> 
> Yeah, Jopson and Crozier’s relationship is getting darker as Crozier falls deeper into his depression and alcoholism. It’s about to get worse...


	8. Jacob's Ladder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set around Sir John's funeral, Crosier is falling deeper into his depression. He makes plans to shoot himself, perhaps tonight, perhaps once the whiskey is dried up. Jopson can see how Crozier is suffering and swears he will follow his Captain wherever he goes. This chapter also features Little and Jopson theorizing about Tunnbaq. I worked backwards from their lines in episode 4 and 5: Jopsons says 'Maybe it wants us to follow it, sir?' Implying he's sussed it be be an intelligent creature that can strategize and plot, not just a dumb beast. Little hears that Silna called the monster a 'Spirit' from Blanky and gets panicked as if he believes in ghosts and spirits.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I just write Dark!Jopson? That power dynamic just went 'flip!'.
> 
> Warning: Suicide Pact. If the subject makes you uncomfortable, skip.

Jopson opened the book on the Barbary slave Trade Crozier had given him. There he found a pressed plant with once cup-shaped, lavender-coloured flowers and long, delicate, green appendages foliated with ladder-like rows of tiny eye-shaped leaves. 

Jopson stared at the Jacob’s Ladder flower for a while before turning the page to begin reading. 

The first bell of the day rang. It was time to fetch for Captain Crozier. 

He closed the book and lay it on his bed, then hurried to his duties. 

He put hot water in the basin and gave Captain Crozier’s bed cabin door a knock. “Captain! Are you awake?!” he called and waited. 

Silence. 

Jopson knocked and called for the Captain twice more and heard nothing. 

Now he was very concerned. 

Protocol dictates he ensure the Captain is still alive. 

“I’m coming in, sir!” he announced through the wood. 

He hadn’t had to do this before, he was nervous, so he waited and listened a while before letting himself in. 

Crozier was lying in bed with his face to the wall, breathing very faintly with the covers bundled over him. 

Jopson concluded he was in an unusually deep sleep. 

He stepped closer, felt and heard his foot knock against an empty whiskey bottle on the floor. He picked it up and put it on the bedside table. 

"I beg your pardon, Sir. I knocked, but I couldn’t rouse you. Are you ill? Sir?” Jopson asked worriedly. 

He slid his arm under Crozier’s back and sat him up, ensuring the covers fell away, the cold would help sober the Captain up. 

“...James...” Crozier moaned weakly, eyes foggy, he hadn’t fully registered where he was. 

“It’s only me, Captain.” Jopson held a glass of water against Croziers lips. 

“I want to see James...” Crozier muttered, then sipped the water reluctantly. 

“...Where do you think we are, Captain?” Jopson tested. 

Crozier looked around himself hazily. Then he looked at Jopson. 

“...Will you have him sent here?” 

“James Ross is back in England with his wife, sir.” 

Crozier blinked at Jopson in confusion. Then he seemed to start to get a bearing on the time and place he was in. 

Croziers eyes turned red and watery. He slumped forwards and cupped his face in his hands. 

“I thought we were on the opposite side of the world for a second there.” Crozier groaned. 

“Sir.” 

Crozier peaked at Jopson from between his fingers before letting his hands down. 

The steward dabbed Crozier’s eyes with a kerchief. 

“We must hasten to the funeral...” Crozier muttered groggily. 

The officers, stewards and doctors of Terror followed their captain across the snowy surface of the frozen sea: two by two in solemn procession; to where all that was left of the heroic Sir John lay in a black coffin in the shadow of Erebus. 

Hodgson and Little were the first in line behind Crozier, and Jopson and Irving behind them. 

with admiration Jopson watched the golden tassels shimmering on the shoulders of the men around him. 

Captain Crozier was all exhaustion, sadness, and alcoholic fog. 

It was clear he would rather be anywhere else but here; doing anything else but this. 

Captain Fitzjames stood tall and mournful beside Crozier and gave the Irish Captain a sideways look of disdain every time Crozier stuttered, fumbled, or hesitated on a word. 

He had not even bothered to write his own sermon; he’d simply crossed the name out on the eulogy Sir John had written for Lieutenant Gore the night before. 

"In his flight, Jacob lighted upon a certain place and tarried there becau... because the sun was set. He thought it a terrible place. No house, no hearth. But that night he dreamed: A ladder set upon the earth and the top of it reaching to the heavens...” 

_________________________________________________________________________________ 

After the funeral the Terrors who had attended joined the Erebites for a meal to mark the date. 

Erebus was overcrowded, but the officer’s mess where Jopson, and the Erebite stewards Mr Bridgens and Mr Hoar oversaw lunch was not so different from usual. 

Captain Crozier was sat at the head of the table; Captain Fitzjames was displaced on his own ship now, to one side, as Crozier had been when Franklin had previously come to dine on Terror. The other six seats were occupied by the five remaining Lieutenants, plus Doctor Peddie. 

The unsociable Doctor Stanley did not attend, while Doctor Macdonald had been more interested in messing in the gunroom with Mr Blanky and Mr Goodsir, discussing Inuit-related matters. 

With his extroverted second and third commanders either side of him, Crozier was NOT happy. He rested his chin on a propped-up fist and gave Jopson a bemused look. 

With wine to loosen their tongues the conversation had gradually transformed from the sad, respectful recounting of Franklin’s deeds to the typical Fitzjames-centric bragging of the Erebus’ Captain. 

It was Little who requested the drowning man story. 

“He was being pulled along with the ebbing tide, right out of the Mersey estuary. I dove in before I thought to remove my boots.” Fitzjames recalled enthusiastically. 

Jopson and Hoar started clearing away their soup course, stepping over the cat lying beside Fitzjames. 

“They perished, as did my pocket watch. But the man was saved.” 

Everyone laughed. Everyone but Crozier, who looked plastered. 

Jopson poured some more water into Crozier’s glass. 

“I was given an inscribed cup, of silver. For bravery. More of a chalice, really.” Fitzjames peacocked. 

“How big was it?” asked Little. 

Fitzjames was about to respond when Captain Crozier stood up and declared; “My apologies, everyone, but I’m really not feeling at all well. I’m going to return to my ship.” 

“What? Already? By yourself?” Fitzjames asked in bafflement. 

Crozier nodded at the Erebus’ Captain. 

“But sir, that bear is still lurking around out there! Shouldn’t you at least take a Marine with you?” Little asked worriedly. 

“I have my pistol.” said Crozier. 

Jopson looked worried and unsure what to do. 

Bridgens smiled at him and took the stack of soup bowls from his hands. 

Jopson grinned gratefully at Bridgens, then he hurried to fetch Crozier’s great coat. 

Fitzjames stood up, “Please stay, Francis.” He pleaded. “We’ve so much to talk about...” 

Jopson helped Crozier into his coat. 

Crozier gave Fitzjames and intense, piercing stare and said, “You should have addressed me on those matters sooner. It's too late, now.” 

“Christ, Francis!” Fitzjames exclaimed and shook his head. “Try thinking of someone else for once, will you? This meal is in honour of Sir John!” 

“And I’m not hungry!” Crozier snapped. 

Fitzjames glared at Crozier and sat down. The Erebus Captain knocked back the rest of his wine and sat with his eyes averted. 

Irving leaned into Hodgson and whispered, “They’re both so selfish.” 

Le Vesconte warned Irving to be quiet. 

Hodgson cupped Irving's ear and replied, “What they need to do is care for each other first and foremost, or we don’t have a hope of getting out of the ice.” 

“Captain, will you at least have Mr Jopson accompany you?” Little pleaded. 

Jopson smiled at Little and then at Crozier. 

Crozier grunted and nodded. 

Jopson felt Little jab him gently in the side and he saw that the first Lieutenant was offering him his pistol. 

“L-lieutenant? Are you.... are you sure you want to give me this?” Jopson was stupefied. 

“The other day, Captain Crozier divulged to me over a whiskey, that you’re a better shot than he is. You keep him safe out on the ice there, Thomas.” 

“Tha-thank you, sir.” Jopson gratefully took the pistol from Little. 

He grabbed his own coat and followed Crozier out. 

“That lad’s like a duckling following a fox.” Fitzjames scoffed. 

“Do I detect a hint of Jealousy, James?” Le Vesconte questioned playfully. 

The red glow of sunset leaked across the barren landscape. The ice was colourful in its soundtrack; sometimes it sounded like it was whispering and moaning, other times it rumbled like a great living monster and then it also made hollow, whistle-cracks as great glacial sheets slid over each other. The trek back to Terror was thirty-five minutes; wordless and freezing, arctic air is like a glove of pain that encircles the body. Cold like needles shooting in every direction, felt mostly on the legs and in the hands, and upon the naked face. 

Terror felt deserted, most of the men had bundled up in their hammocks like mice in winter. All to be heard was the footfalls of the men on watch trying to keep themselves warm, the creaking of the entrapped ship’s timbers and the persistent wailing of the ice. Even Neptune, who usually whined all night, was asleep. 

Jopson escorted Crozier back to his cabin. 

The steward left his own coat over one of the chairs with Little’s pistol still inside it. Then helped Captain Crozier out of his snow-covered outer layers. 

Crozier kept hold of his pistol and inspected it a moment, running his numb fingertips along the fine, golden embossment upon the shiny black handle. 

“Did you see the way Fitzjames glared at me while I was fumbling over that eulogy?” Crozier scoffed. 

“You did very well, sir.” Jopson said, genuinely impressed that Crozier had managed to stay awake long enough to finish it. 

Crozier swallowed dryly, found no words. Still as a statue, misery contorting his face. With a glassy stare he watched the snowflakes glide hypnotically in their abundance across the windows. The sun was sunk. 

“Can I do anything else for you, Captain?” Jopson asked. The steward lingered before Crozier with an expectant ogle. 

Crozier didn’t respond. 

Jopson blinked curiously and cocked his head to the side. “Captain?” 

Shocking the steward, the captain clutched him firmly by both upper arms. Crozier was still holding his pistol so the handle of it was being pressed rather painfully into Jopson’s flesh. 

Crozier leant his forehead against Jopson’s shoulder, almost pressing his face into the lad’s neck. 

Jopson stiffened, with eyes blown wide and mouth agape. 

He saw Crozier’s shoulder's shaking and heard the older man draw in a sharp breath, followed by a series of soft sobs. 

“Ca-captain? ...You’re taking Sir John’s death worse than I expected…” 

“...I’m sorry...” Crozier whispered at the end of a few more sobs. 

When the captain’s breathing steadied, he let go of the lad and stood back. “Jopson. You should leave me alone. Now.” 

“’Alone’ like how exactly, Captain?” Jopson asked with a raised eyebrow. 

“...Just alone.” Crozier seemed confused and sad, with eyes bloodshot and teary. 

“No man is alone on a ship.” 

“Get out.” Crozier snapped impatiently. 

“Sir, I can’t.” Jopson replied calmly. 

“You have legs, don’t you? You can manoeuvre yourself out of my cabin. That is an order, Mr Jopson.” 

“My orders were to keep you safe, sir. I’m not leaving until we are both calm.” 

“Damn you Jopson! I’ll carry you out myself!” Crozier threatened. 

Jopson swallowed, gripped the rim of the cabinet behind himself in order to anchor his position, “Come over here and try, sir.” he tempted. 

“And I’ll have you lashed for disobeying me too! You need to be taught a thing or two about your place on this ship!” 

Crozier moved to pick Jopson up but found that all his strength had left him. He could barely stand. He froze with his arms around Jopson. The steward pulled him into a tight embrace. 

“I know just what it looks like, sir. When one is about to end it all. I’ve seen it before.” 

“… I’ve never wanted anything as little as I want this now. To be in command of this expedition entire...” Crozier nearly whimpered. 

“And left with Franklin’s mistakes...” 

“Oh no...Jopson… I’m so sorry. I never would have...” 

“I understand, sir. Take it easy now.” Jopson advised and guided Crozier to sit in a chair. Crozier released the hug reluctantly. 

“...I don’t want to be here. I’m not fit for command. I’m not fit for anything. Just let me drink until there's nothing left.” 

“And what shall you do when the whiskey runs out, sir?” Jopson asked. 

“Then I’ll go to hell!” 

“By way of laudanum, perhaps? A noose? Or a gun? Or a knife? Or maybe you'll throw yourself from the crow's-nest and splatter like a starfish of blood upon the ice? Make a meal of yourself for the bear! Does that really sound appealing to you, sir?” Jopson asked letting his voice be heavy with distaste. 

Crozier gawped at Jopson in bewilderment. 

He was just sober enough to recognize that in their total of five and a half years now serving together that they were showing each other sides of themselves they had never seen. 

A darkness. 

“...It’ll be a bullet. I think.” Crozier rasped. 

“Please don’t.” 

“I can’t do this anymore...” 

“Give me that gun, Captain.” 

“No.” 

“People who comit suicide become the trees of hell. You’ll snap and crack and rot.” Jopson warned, speaking with a slow, calming voice, so as not to return the rushed and aggressive tones of his master. 

“I’d prefer anything to this limbo I’ve found myself in. Even an eternal darkness.” Crozier confessed weakly. 

Jopson’s eyes became bright with resolve. 

The young steward walked backwards from Crozier while holding his gaze, to the place he’d left his coat. 

Jopson didn’t need to break his eye contact with Crozier to reach into his coat pocket and draw Little’s pistol. 

Crozier stood up with a start. 

Jopson stepped up to him and ceased Crozier’s pistol-baring hand in a swift, controlled motion. 

Jopson had Crozier press the end of the gun below his chin, simultaneously he pressed the end of Little’s pistol under Crozier’s chin. 

“Wherever you go, I will follow you. Captain.” said Jopson with steady dedication. “If you really want to take the easy way out of this then let’s do it right here, right now. Let us not suffer long, or take any chances missing the mark. Say the word, Captain.” 

Crozier stared in horror and amazement at Jopson’s flashing throat and lively green eyes darkened with a deadly temptation. 

The captain shook his head breathlessly and wriggled his fingers in order to drop the gun from his own hand. 

It clattered against the floor. 

Jopson let Crozier stumble backwards into his chair. 

“Are you dissuaded yet, sir?” Jopson asked darkly while standing over him. 

Crozier nodded fearfully. Shock and a lack of sobriety turned him vulnerable and submissive under Jopson’s scrutiny. 

How the lad had grown into a man since Crozier had met him. 

_________________________________________________________________________________ 

An hour later... 

Jopson was grooming himself in his own small quarters when there was a knock on the door. He’d just finished shaving and was now washing his hair; for that he had stripped his upper body of clothing. 

“Who is it?!” He asked, his eyes closed with the soap running over his face. 

“Lieutenant Little!” replied the familiar baritone. 

“You may come in, sir!” Jopson called and heard Little open and close the door. The boots coming to stand behind him. “I don’t know why you bother knocking, sir. You do have free reign over the persons and spaces of anyone below a wardroom officer, after all.” Jopson remarked before dunking his head in the wash basin to rinse the soap away. The water was warm enough to make the cold air against his skin bearable. Little watched Jopson’s lean, muscular back with admiration and envy. 

He rung some water out of his locks, slicked his hair back and looked at the blushing Lieutenant Little. 

“Do you mind helping me trim it?” Jopson asked him. 

“What?” Little’s brain seemed to have metaphorically fallen out of his ears. 

Jopson sighed in disappointment and began rubbing his hair with a towel. “Have you cut hair before?” 

“...yeah.” 

“Actually, knowing you, you’ll probably butcher it.” 

“I can do it.” Little insisted. 

“Let me dry and comb it first.” Jopson requested. “Now, what did you want to see me about, sir?” 

“Well I came to get my pistol back if you’re done with it.” Little said, rubbing the back of his head. 

“Didn’t trust me to hang onto it until morning, did you?” Jopson asked with a mischievous smirk. He smoothed his messy locks back with the towel before laying it over his shoulders, so it covered his cold-stiffened nipples. 

“O-oh, wah-well, it’s not... it's not that I don’t trust you, I just...” 

Jopson cut off the Lieutenant’s awkward stuttering with a giggle, “I’m pulling your leg, sir.” Jopson assured while fetching and offering the pistol. He scrubbed one of his damp ears with the end of the towel. “It was dangerous to give it to me in the first place, but I’m glad you did, sir.” he said with a smile. 

“My Goodness, Thomas, you’ve cleaned it!” Little exclaimed. “How is it you make everything you touch look so brand new?” 

Jopson blushed and rubbed the back of his head; he wasn’t used to this kind of praise. 

Little unloaded the pistol of its ball bearing bullet and put them separately in his inside coat pocket. 

Jopson looked serious when he saw the little metal ball. 

You have no idea where that bullet nearly ended up. 

Jopson lay the towel down by his basin and thread his arms through his nightshirt. The clothing spared his flesh from the cold. The water in his basin was already growing a thin layer of ice. 

The Terror rumbled; the room tilted to one side. Loose objects leaned and shifted, Jopson tripped backwards and Little stumbled forwards. They steadied themselves to avoid collapsing onto the bed and looked around cautiously. Neptune could be heard barking in the hallway now. 

“What was that?” asked Little fearfully. 

Jopson smiled, “The ice must be pushing the ship’s bow up, sir.” 

“Is it dangerous?” 

“Nothing to worry about, sir.” 

The ship was tilted four inches by degrees. Jopson and Little stood upright the best they could. 

“Why did you stop calling me ‘Edward’?” Little asked sadly. 

“I forget.” Jopson began doing up his nightshirt buttons. 

“Sorry I'm so forgettable.” Edward scoffed and rolled his eyes. 

“Did you enjoy the dinner on Erebus?” Jopson asked distantly. 

“I like listening to Captain Fitzjames’s stories.” Little said happily. 

“I suspect Fitzjames will perish if he ever stops bragging for a day,” Jopson giggled. 

“Haha, you’re probably right. Let’s hope he never stops.” 

“Hehe.” 

“Mr Hall made some pretzels, a nice change of menu, but you left before they were served.” 

“Aw, I like those...” 

“I brought you one.” Little reached into his inside pocket and presented Jopson with a large pretzel wrapped in a silk handkerchief.” 

“Thank you very much, Edward.” Jopson beamed. 

Edward just smiled and watched Thomas nibling the salted biscuit. 

“On your way here was there any sign of the monster bear?” asked the younger man. 

“We were very worried on our way over, as we could see yours and Captain Crozier’s footprints along with the bear’s in the snow. It must have been stalking close behind you.” Little recalled miserably. 

“That’s spooky.” Jopson shuddered excitedly, “The snow had ebbed, and the view was quite clear, we could see far... and yet there was no sign of it. I suppose it can blend into the landscape very easily.” 

“Yeah... we kept wondering if you were dead until we could see your footprints got back to Terror alright. And we did see something scrambling around the ice towers of the pressure ridge. Something big and white. Blending in.” 

“We need to be more vigilant.” Jopson nodded. 

“I’m not surprised that you and Captain Crozier didn’t see it though. He was quite intoxicated, and you never take your eyes off him.” 

“I’m glad that you perceive me as so devoted.” Jopson said happily. He set the half-eaten pretzel down on his bedside table, picked up his whale bone comb and began combing his messy, ebony hair. 

“...I’m frightened of the... creature, Thomas.” the first Lieutenant confessed after a silence. 

Jopson blinked in surprise. “...Why ever is that the case, Edward? It seems less competent than an ordinary bear.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“I’ve heard of bears breaking into log cabins and tearing homes apart just to get to a little piece of cheese underneath someone’s sofa. A bear could easily climb up the snow ramp and rip its way into the ship if it really wanted to.” Jopson assured with a grin. 

“Perhaps it doesn’t want to.” Little looked like a beaten dog again. 

“Asking what it wants is a good start... It doesn’t make any sense for it to be after us in the first place...” Jopson pondered with his knuckle against his mouth, “It doesn’t seem to want to eat us. I can only presume it’s chasing anything with its dead owners' scent on. But it should have gone after Mr Goodsir by now if that were the case...” 

“It’s ‘owner’, you say? The Eskimo girl?” 

“No, the old Eskimo man! The girl was his daughter. Captain Crozier told me that she said it was ‘bound to no one now’ after the old man perished.” 

“I don’t believe a beast like that could ever have been tamed.” Little said, shaking his head in disbelief. 

“It occurs to me that any animal can be tamed if it is raised from birth to imprint on a human as a substitute parent. How used to handling dogs are you, Edward?” 

Edward shook his head again, “Not very.” 

“Did you know that by scent alone, a dog can smell whether its owner is dead or alive?” 

Little shook his head and Jopson continued; “It can smell the specific place where a person has died and everywhere the body was taken afterwards and where it was finally laid to rest. A dog can want revenge for the death of its master, it is possible a bear can also. I expect it will attack anything with the scent of the dead Eskimo man. That includes everyone who was in the room when he died. And this ship entire.” 

“You’ve witnessed this behaviour first-hand?” Little asked, astonished. 

“I have, sir... urm... Edward.” 

“If you’re right... if the monster strikes again, it will be more interested in Terror than Erebus.” Little assessed. 

Jopson nodded. 

“Have you told Captain Crozier about your theories yet?” 

"Oh goodness! Come now, Edward. I’m a manservant, not a field Marshal!” Jopson exclaimed. “It’s not my place to strategize about this sort of thing.” he chuckled shyly and looked down in that way that made his eyes look gently closed, but for the glinting light glaucous colour between his long eyelashes. 

“Shall we tell him together?” Little asked encouragingly and gave Jopson a firm pat on the shoulder. 

Jopson didn't respond to Little’s attempt at reassurance. 

Little stepped past him and fetched hair scissors. He gestured at Jopson to turn around and let him cut his hair. 

“How much did you want trimmed off?” 

“Cut it so it ends in the middle of my neck.” Jopson gestured as he spoke. Edwards started snipping. “...Thank you.” 

“...why do you think... the creature on the ice was not killed by the Marines? Could it be something more like... a spirit? Something that can’t be killed by a bullet?” 

Jopson yawned. “What sort of spirit leaves footprints?” 

“Ghosts can leave footprints and move things around. I’ve seen it before...” 

“Are you an expert on ghosts, now, Edward?” 

“You mustn’t tell anyone. Especially Lieutenant Irving!” Edward insisted. “But I have been to séances. And I’ve read ‘Dialogues of the Dead’ by George Lyttelton.” 

“That’s found in the fiction section, Edward.” 

“But I’ve seen spirits, Thomas! I saw the ghost of the Roman soldier in Bath! And the one of the Sentinel that walks up and down Hadrian's Wall!” Edward insisted. 

Jopson yawned again. “Alright. Who knows? I’m just a steward after all, you don’t have to take my theories seriously.” 

“Yet I do take your theory seriously, Thomas! I think Captain Crozier should listen to what we both have to say.” 

“Well, as of late he’s been in no state to be confronted on this matter. He’s been Arf’arf’an’arf with the whiskey all day and he’ll probably be even worse tomorrow. He’s making a go for regurgitating his insides. Sorry for the crudeness, Edward, it is late. And you’ll suffer as much for insisting that I drop my formalities when we are alone.” 

“Can’t you engineer some kind of plan to keep the Captain sober for a day?” Little asked. He was satisfied with the cut and started patting away the free hairs that clung to Jopson’s nightshirt. 

“I don’t like telling people what to do.” Jopson pouted. 

“You should, it’s nanty-narking.” Little laughed. 

_________________________________________________________________________________ 

Victorian slang meanings: 

I’m Pulling your leg = I’m Only Joking with you. (Not really outdated, but it confused some American friends of mine.) 

Arf’arf’an’arf = Someone who keeps having half-pints, but I presume it can apply to tots of whiskey too, basically just another word for drunk, (Tipsy over a long period rather than getting smashed as quickly as possible.) 

nanty-narking = A lot of fun, (In this case I’m using it as a period typical substitute for ‘awesome’.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Both the book and TV series imply Crozier's suicidal thoughts under the pressure of leading the expedition. Kristina Gehrmann's lovely Icebound Terror comic features an unsuccessful attempt by Jopson to stop Crozier from committing suicide, which I think may have been an influence on this chapter also.
> 
> Jopson's theory on the tunbaq will be developed in the next chapter I think. I think he, like a few other characters, projects himself onto it. He will compare it to a poacher/ hunter. Possibly he is one of the first to figure out that they are underestimating the monster's wit because he himself is underestimated by his contemporaries in a similar way. They don't know how skilled a killer he is. (yes I'm reading too much into this series but it's so nanty-narking!)
> 
> I've taken some stuff directly from Dave Kajganich's screen play here, sort of abridged it, I thoroughly enjoyed reading the second draft of the pilot and hearing Fitzjames tell the drowning man story.


	9. Styx

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> set between episodes 3 and 4, It's been several months since Jopson made the pact with Crozier and neither of them have brought it up since. The dark months are beginning, Crozier sends Jopson and Helmpan to Erebus. Worried for their safety, Fitzjames has two Marines escort the Terrors back. The return journey results in an encounter with the Tuunbaq.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wanted to write some Jopson and Fitzjames.

October 24th... 

Was it the knocking on his cabin door or Neptune licking his face that woke him up? He’d let the dog snuggle up with him for extra warmth last night. He used to curl up with his father, his brothers and his greyhound, Paddington. Oh, the privilege of sleeping in a bed! Not a hammock or on the floor with coats. Thomas really didn’t want to have to leave his bed. 

“Arise, Jopson! As a door turns on its hinges, so does a sluggard on his bed!” Irving shouted angrily through the door between knocks. 

Reality hit him and he sprung out of bed. Neptune watched him excitedly, hoping to play. He’d never slept in! Never! What happened!? 

Jopson looked at the patent illuminator, it was still a moonlit night outside. 

“John?! What time is it?” Jopson asked. 

“Nine O’clock!” 

Jopson got changed into his uniform and opened the door while still combing his hair. 

“Is the captain alright!? I should have gotten him out of bed over an hour ago!” 

“He’s dressed himself and is up on deck, talking with Mr Blanky. It’s Sunday, so we’re doing sermons, won’t you join us?” 

“I’ve not known Captain Crozier to give Sunday church services.” Jopson said with a raised eyebrow. 

“He’s not.” Irving sighed disappointedly. “But he did give into my request to let us read to the crew whichever passages we felt encouraging given our predicament. Anyone who has anything to read out may do so.” 

“Would you happen to know what sort of mood the Captain is in?” Jopson asked with great concern. 

“A ponderous one. I think he’s putting his mind to getting us out of this mess.” 

“Does he look sober?” 

“Does he ever look sober?” 

“But he’s not especially angry or especially giddy?” 

“No.” 

Jopson looked at the floor and was alarmed, for it was covered in sticks, no, long splinters of wood... they were placed only in front of his cabin. He bent to pick them up. 

“What an earth is all this?” he gasped. 

Irving crouched in front of him and stayed Jopson’s hand. “Do not labour on the seventh day. You can leave this obscenity for whichever viper put it here in the first place to clean up.” 

They stood up. 

“But why are they all around my door? Who do you suppose put them there?” 

“Someone who caulks great splinters out of jammed hatches and doors, due to his being the worst man at his job I’ve ever seen.” Irving said in a quiet voice. 

“You think Mr Hickey is targeting me in some way?” Jopson whispered. 

“Let’s not jump to conclusions. I expect he was caulking the jammed middle hatch and the splinters ended up by your door by coincidence.” 

Jopson looked relieved and gave Irving a trusting nod. 

Jopson and Irving could hear Hodgson playing the piano in the wardroom as they passed it. 

“There he goes again. Klink, clank, clonk. Never a tune you could really dance to!” Irving scoffed. 

Jopson giggled and Irving opened the wardroom door. 

Mr Heartnell was sat beside Hodgson at the piano, the second lieutenant had been giving him a lesson. 

“Do you want to join in with sermons?” Irving asked. 

“We’re sorry for interrupting the lesson.” Jopson asserted, trying to make up for the hot-headed third lieutenant's lack of manners. 

The crew gathered on the lower deck, as it was agreed that even with the tarp up it would be unpleasant to stand before the quarter deck. Looking around, Jopson saw that Blanky and Crozier were absent, and he expected they were climbing about the top rigging or in the crow's nest, that’s where they usually had their private conversations. The cold seemed to have no affect on them. 

Little explained to the crew that after he and the Lieutenants had said their passages, a maximum of ten volunteers could be picked from the crowd to read a bible verse of their choosing. 

“My own verse shall be brief.” said Little. “The sun may be dyeing, the days may be getting shorter, but of doom I say; the word of God is living and active, sharper than any two-edged sword, piercing to the division of soul and of spirit, of joints and of marrow, and discerning the thoughts and intentions of the heart.” Little let his words sink in and watched the crews faces. “Lieutenant Irving, would you like to speak next?” 

Irving swapped places with Little very eagerly. “Behold, the day! Behold, it comes! Your doom has come; the rod has blossomed; pride has budded!” Irving's enthusiasm caught the crew's attention and his joy was contagious. 

__________________________________________________________________________________ 

Afterwards, the sun was up, and Captain Crozier had invited his Lieutenants and Mr Blanky to have tea with him in the great cabin. 

Neptune was curled up next to the lit stove. Jopson served the tea quietly, without making eye contact with any of them. He felt in some sense estranged from Crozier today, and he knew Crozier’s lack of attention towards him was because he was feeling the same way. From what they had revealed to one another the night of Sir John’s funeral, those new parts of each other's being, could they really say they knew one another now? Did they ever truly know each other? 

He was assured he knew Crozier’s needs well enough regardless. 

“Captain, I feel it’s about time we developed a counterattack against the bear.” Little asserted stiffly. 

“What did you have in mind, Edward?" Crozier asked dryly. 

“The Erebites’ plan to lure it out with rats fell flat on its face.” Blanky reminded. 

“...The first step is to find out what it wants.” Little asserted and flitted his eyes at Jopson to check that taking credit for something the steward had originally asserted would not upset him. Jopson’s expression was hard to read; calm, servile, eyes downcast or closed. 

“What everything wants, presumably.” said Crozier, as if it were obvious. “To survive.” 

Little cocked his head to the side and gave Crozier a sceptical look. To survive was certainly not the priority of Captain crozier. To entertain his vices was. 

“Perhaps it gets some pleasure from hunting us.” Little deduced. 

“We are its nearest food source.” Blanky highlighted. 

“I've discussed this with the other officers. We feel it has no intention to eat us; it seems to kill and leave the bodies dismembered and strewn around but not eat us.” Little reasoned. 

The other two Lieutenant's gave Crozier concerned nods. 

“It didn’t eat Sir John, sir, it put him down the fire hole, isn’t that strange behaviour for a bear?” Hodgson asked. 

“Aye, strange.” Blanky agreed. 

“We don’t know what it is or what it wants, Captain. But we must find out.” said Little. 

“It is one thing to say that something should be done, but quite a different matter to do it.” Blanky cautioned and then snorted, “Or did you plan on belling the cat yourself, Lieutenant Little?” 

“Jopson, my pipe!” Crozier snapped at the steward. “Or are you going to tell me it’s a fire hazard again?” 

He fetched Crozier's pipe. 

“It's safe for you to smoke indoors for now on account of the ships being frozen in place.” Jopson permitted softly and held the pipe out for Crozier to take into his mouth. 

Jopson leant beside Crozier to stuff and light it. Their shoulders pressed together yet they would not look at each other. 

Little watched uncomfortably; the servant was quiet and close, like an extension of his master. Little wondered if he’d ever seen such devotion on display. 

A large spider scurried across the table, Little flew into a panic and tried to swat it with Irving’s bible. Hodgson was also startled and pulled his teacup and saucer away to stop the spider from hiding beneath it. 

Mr Blanky started laughing at them. 

Little managed three swipes and then saw the mini beast sheltered by a whiskey glass. He paused and saw it was Jopson who had saved the spider. 

“Leave um alone!” Jopson shouted. 

Little blinked at him in surprise and then blushed with embarrassment. He sat back down and hid his face behind his cup, taking a prolonged sip. 

Irving leaned closer to inspect the spider, that now tried to escape the glass with all it’s might, producing a light, tinkling sound. 

“What a Goliath.” the third lieutenant remarked, sounding impressed. 

“How come the cold didn’t kill it yet, I wonder.” Hodgson queried. 

“Cold makes them sleep. Having the stove and the ship’s boiler on simultaneously must have roused it.” Little explained, getting his composure back now. 

Jopson carefully slid an envelope under the glass and took it away. 

Hodgson now felt he could safely return his cup and saucer to the table. The lieutenants watched as Jopson secured the spider in an empty jar with a paper lid, which he punched five holes into with a pen. 

Jopson put the jar beside the stove to keep it warm and Neptune whined at it uneasily. 

Captain Crozier had hardly blinked or twitched throughout this kafuffle and he didn’t bother to look at Jopson, in fact he turned to stare at the wall in the opposite direction. 

“What are you going to do with it then? Keep it as a pet perhaps?” asked Hodgson with a nervous laugh. “You’ve nothing to feed it, mind.” 

“The fact anything can live in this place is a miracle. It’s not right to kill it when it’s done no harm to you, sir.” said Jopson. 

“Here, here.” Hodgson approved and raised his teacup. “I was only startled by the thing but as long as it’s kept in the jar it shan’t bother me.” 

“Would you like more tea, sirs?” Jopson asked. 

“Yes please.” The Lieutenants said simultaneously. 

While Jopson poured more tea the Captain spoke. He seemed rather calm, even putting on a smile as he addressed, “We should start hunkering down for a bad winter now. I'm sending Mr Helpman across the ice this afternoon with a mission to make a list of Erebus's current provisions and to exchange with the Erebites a list of our own. I would like for you to accompany him, Jopson.” 

“Me, sir?” the steward grinned nervously. 

“You make a fine bodyguard. And I have an extra task for you while Mr Helpman is indisposed. I should like for you to deliver a letter to Captain Fitzjames.” 

“I’d be honoured, sir.” said Jopson, bowing his head. 

“Would it not be more hospitable to invite Fitzjames over for dinner?” Little asked sadly. 

“I am in no mood to host such a gathering.” Crozier insisted, “We always eat too much when we throw dinners, I’d rather we began preserving what we can now. Also, by sending letters I can have more control over the direction of the conversation. My letter is concerning the Scientifics of our predicament and I don’t expect he will try to respond with bragging or write back just to tell me I’ve bored him to death.” 

“It had better be a short letter then.” said Little. 

Irving and Hodgson laughed at this. 

“Would you like to dictate the letter to me, sir?” asked Jopson. 

“It’s already written. I’ll give it to you when it’s time for you to go.” Crozier assured. 

___________________________________________________________________________________ 

Due to the stark contrast between the arctic cold and the heat of Erebus’s Great cabin, Jopson felt as if his fingertips and the end of his nose were on fire. 

“Christ! Francis sent you here all alone?” Fitzjames questioned and shook his head. “Take a seat and have some hot mulled wine, Mr Jopson, you look frozen solid.” 

“Thank you very much, sir.” Jopson accepted breathlessly. Jopson looked curiously at Bridgens, who smiled and nodded at him reassuringly. He’d never been invited to sit at a captain’s private table like this unless he was alone with Captain Crozier, it felt overwhelmingly alien to him. The casual and warm nature of Fitzjames’s manner was not what he had been expecting. 

“Actually, sir, I was accompanied by Mr Helpman but he has gone down to the orlop with Mr Morfin to make lists of supplies and containers.” 

“But neither of you are trained gunmen. Francis ought to have sent a Marine or a Lieutenant along with you, at least.” Fitzjames insisted with a disapproving tut. 

“Captain Crozier asked me to deliver this message.” Jopson offered Fitzjames the letter from across the table. 

Fitzjames’s eyes widened after reading the first short line of the letter, “Nonsense.” He muttered and grunted lazily as he removed himself from his chair. “Just a moment...” Jopson watched him curiously. He walked to the chess board in the corner of the cabin. “Queen to bishop, six? Ridiculous.” he muttered and adjusted the board. “Queen... bishop, six...” The Erebite Captain gave a surprised hum, put his knuckle in his mouth and analysed the game board carefully. 

“Knignt takes queen.” Fitzjames said seriously and adjusted the board again. “Make a note of that, Mr Jopson. I want Francis to know.” 

Quite fascinated, Jopson nodded, “Yes, sir.” 

Mr Bridgens gave Jopson a piece of paper and a pen. Then poured the mulled wine into a mug for him. 

“No frostbite I hope, Mr Jopson?” Bridgens asked caringly. 

“I don’t think so. Thank you, Bridgens.” Jopson smiled. He sipped the unfamiliar drink shyly. He took a smaller envelope out of his pocket and gave it to Bridgens. “Peglar wanted me to give this to you.” 

Bridgens beamed and thanked Jopson, then he moved to stand guard over the cabin door. 

Fitzjames continued to read Crozier’s letter and sat down opposite Jopson again. 

“What sort of mood was he in today?” asked Fitzjames. 

“Ponderous, sir... I’m afraid I haven’t seen much of him today though. When he sent me over here, he seemed uncharacteristically relaxed, but that was only after enough camomile tea and tobacco to sedate an ox.” 

“Is he sober?” 

“Afraid not, sir.” Jopson gave a small, nervous smile and blinked twice. 

“I will need some time to write him my response letter. In the meantime, you can give him my note and this.” Fitzjames gestured to his servant. 

Bridgens fetched a thin, black leather-bound book. He put it on the table in front of Jopson. 

“Please feel free to peak.” Fitzjames offered. 

Jopson opened the book skittishly and saw that it was filled with photo realistic pencil drawings of the happy side of life in upper-class London. Jopson flicked threw it slowly. He recognised the places, and even some of the faces seemed familiar. 

“That’s my 1844 London sketch book three.” Fitzjames informed. 

“You’re very skilled, sir.” Jopson said gently and warmly. 

“I had hoped to cheer him up by giving this to him. Now I think I’m going to regret it. He’s heartless, sending you over here with so few layers, and on a Sunday too! What do you suppose, my charming gigglemug? Is he trying to make a meal out of you for the bear?” Fitzjames grinned and raised an eyebrow. 

Jopson blushed, “No, sir. I’m sure he just wanted his message delivered quickly and felt he could spare me for the task at hand, sir.” he spouted nervously. 

Fitzjames raised both eyebrows and chuckled lightly. “I think he’s trying to show you off to me.” 

“I’m sorry, sir?” Jopson was puzzled. 

“He must have picked you because he wants to make me envious of the loyalty of his men. What is it about him that makes you so devoted, hmm?” Fitzjames questioned. 

“Well, sir... he always puts the ship and the crew above himself...” 

“Oh, come now, we both know that’s not true; he’d give up his first officers, his rank and his right hand for an extra glass of whisky.” Fitzjames scoffed and rolled his eyes. The Erebite captain leaned back and crossed his long legs. “Oh well, this is wonderful! Having you as company until Helpman is finished.” 

“Thank you, sir, but I believe my visit was meant to be short. Captain crozier said there would only be four hours of daylight today. I'm not certain my manner is appropriate for someone of your class, either.” 

“Ha, nonsense! A man is worth his rank, not his class. And even there, there is some wiggle room. You are the perfect example, are you not? As much as you’d hate to admit it, you appear to be the only person whose company Francis can stand for long intervals. If you can hold a conversation with him, you can hold one with me. Now, I won’t pry into your personal history, but if you have some sort of secret for winning his favour which you are willing to share, I would very much like to hear it. Francis and I.... are, after all, going to have to work together on this expedition. Whether we like it or not.” Fitzjames gave Jopson an expectant look and sipped his wine. 

“Sir, I... don’t know what to say... I don’t know him as well as you seem to think. I have no key to that man’s heart.” 

“Alright. So, I’m a lisping toff! I’m only here because I was a lapdog to Sir John.” Fitzjames laughed and shrugged. 

“Who says such things?” Jopson asked sympathetically. 

“Francis says them! He hates me!” Fitzjames exclaimed, he seemed hurt, but he laughed the pain away and drank more wine. “With all he drinks to hide from the horrors of the world, he thinks I’ve had it too easy. He always asks for people to hear him out, but he doesn't have the patience to hear me. He says he wants us to survive yet he doesn't want to live. That he wants us to get out, yet he hardly leaves his cabin. Now what do you think of a character like that?!” 

“Well, sir... there is the proverb... let every person be subject to the governing authorities. For there is no authority except from God, and those that exist have been instituted by God.” 

Fitzjames waved his hand dismissively, “A line that justifies indentured servitude is of no interest to me.” he huffed. “...I get so sore at Francis sometimes... I want to kill him!” Fitzjames seemed surprised and confused by his own feelings. 

“I-I don’t think you know what you want, sir.” Jopson stuttered. 

“Well I want to do something...” Fitzjames grumbled, then smirked. “...Everything... I’ve got to do everything before I die, that’s how I see it!” He seemed to be going off on a tangent now, Jopson wondered how much Fitzjames had drank before his arrival. The captain licked his wine tinted lips. “Have you ever ridden a horse blind folded?” 

Jopson couldn’t help but laugh lightly, “not lately, sir.” 

“I have.” Fitzjames gestured to himself, pleased. “I was dared to when I was a gunnery lieutenant In the Ottoman-Egyptian war! For your information, I was especially commended by Sir Charles Napier, after I had distributed a proclamation to Egyptian soldiers at their camp during the night. A daring exploit if I do say so myself! The Egyptian general, put a price on my head! I had honourless, backstabbing, middle eastern bounty hunters trying to blow my brains out whenever I least expected it! That made for some interesting encounters, let me tell you!” Fitzjames laughed. 

Jopson smiled. 

“When we get out of this place, I’m going to set up an art colony in Australia, or New Zealand, somewhere on the far side of the world!” Fitzjames envisioned enthusiastically. 

“What are you trying to prove, Captain?” Jopson asked with his head cocked to the side and his pail eyes wide with curiosity. 

“That I am a hero! I’m a jewel on the crown of England! And I won’t have that Irish lushington judge me or bog me down with melancholy and doom saying! This place is depressing enough as it is! And if he can revel in his whiskey then I can bloody well revel in my bragging! Which, by the way, is considered a virtue in many cultures!” Fitzjames rose his voice out of a general mix of enthusiasm and dissatisfaction. 

“...sir, perhaps Captain Crozier would warm to you if you were more honest and open with him?” Jopson suggested timidly. 

"He knows everything about me!” 

“But, sir, you want to know more about him. Why don’t you just ask him, sir?” 

Fitzjames recoiled. 

“...why don’t you, sir?” 

Fitzjames averted his eyes and furrowed his brow, “I... I’m afraid of him.” he confessed reluctantly. He looked at Jopson again, “I like to avoid a black eye at the best of times.” 

Jopson raised his eyebrows and gawped for a moment before remarking. “Sir... I can see that the two of you are entirely different creatures...” 

Fitzjames nodded and hummed in agreement. 

“I can’t begin to imagine how you could ever see eye to eye... If there is a way, then it is beyond my comprehension for the time being. But I will see what I can do to be useful, sir.” Jopson assured. 

“I could never be as subservient as you... if that is the thing that pleases Francis... but I will try to adhere to your advice.... to ask him more questions and speak less of myself when I eat with him again.” Fitzjames grumbled. “Would you know when that might be, by the way? I suppose it’s my turn to go and see him next.” 

“You’re welcome to dine on Terror whenever you please, Captain Fitzjames. So long as the weather permits.” 

“Then I’ll come on Wednesday evening. Tell him.” 

“Yessir.” 

There was a knock on the door and Bridgens let Helpman in. 

“Would you like some wine?” asked Fitzjames, very casually. 

Helpman was a little surprised and then politely declined, “Err... no thank you, sir. Best to stay dry with the bear about. Bundle up again, Jopson, we’re shoving off now.” 

“Am I excused, Fitzjames?” Jopson asked. 

“Don’t waste the wine.” Fitzjames demanded. 

Jopson gulped the rest of it down quickly. 

“Now you’re excused. But I’m sending two marines with you back across the ice. I can trust them to make their own way back after they’ve chaperoned the both of you.” 

“That’s kind of you, sir.” said Helpman. 

“Bridgens, will you fetch Paterson and Pilkington?” Fitzjames requested. 

“Consider it done, sir.” replied Bridgens. 

___________________________________________________________________________________ 

It was disorientating, even to someone as experienced with the arctic as he, to see how the heavy, charcoal-grey sky, swelling before a storm, gave more of the illusion of a solid than the airy, white void of the snow plain beneath their feet. 

The landscape was still lit with the glow through the clouds to the west. 

A party of four with three guns was making the journey from Erebus to Terror. 

Private Pilkington stared at the sky too long and lost his footing on the ice but Jopson steadied him. 

“We’re getting too close to the pressure ridge.” Jopson warned. 

“The Terror sits on the ridge; we have no choice but to go along this way.” said Corporal Patterson in his Scottish accent, he was watching the ice towers carefully, he knew that was where it would hide. 

“We could take a longer rout out into the wider plain and circle back to the ship from the starboard side.” Jopson suggested. 

“Are you a strategist now, Mr Jopson?” Paterson prickled. 

“No, sir, but that is the way Captain Crozier goes.” 

“The quickest route from A to B is a straight line, Mr Jopson. I don’t fancy being out here longer than I have to and losing any of my parts to the cold.” 

“I agree, the cold has done more damage to us so far than the bear has.” said Helmpman. 

“I can shoot a fucking bear, but I can’t shoot frostbite.” grumbled Paterson. 

Jopson’s attention was drawn to a snow flurry at the foot of one of the ice towers. He thought he’d seen movement there. As they approached, he was able to make out a little, black, shiny circle, nuzzling its way out of the loose snow. 

Just as they stepped by it, he saw two, round, black eyes upon a grey face also reveal themselves from the flurry. It was the head of a young seal coming up for air. 

Jopson instinctively stuck his boat knife in it. He wrestled with it briefly and its blood spurted on him and the ice. 

The others were startled, they stepped back and tried to understand what was happening. 

“Jopson! What are you doing!?” Helpman questioned in horror. 

“Preparing dinner, what’s it look like?” Jopson asked with a raised eyebrow. He’d given the seal a quick, merciful death with a precise gash to the throat. 

The seal was about the same size as Neptune. Jopson put it over his shoulder and found it weighed about as much as a man. 

“Can you carry that by yourself?” asked Pilkington worriedly. 

“No problem, carried my mate Alley further than this one night when he had a pint too many.” Jopson grunted while adjusting to the weight. 

“You should have let it alone, Jopson.” Helpman said sadly. 

“Yes, you’ll slow our pace, I’m not stopping, men, keep up!” barked Paterson. 

“Not a problem, Corporal!” Jopson assured. 

“The smell of the blood will lead the bear right to us.” Helpman said fearfully. “And it’s not right to kill one of god’s innocent creatures that way, you’ll put a curse on us.” 

“Oh don’t be such a big girl’s blouse about it Mr Helpman! We’re minutes away now!” Paterson scoffed. 

“You heard both the Captain's concerns about supplies this winter, didn’t you? We need this. It shan’t be wasted, sir.” Jopson reasoned. 

“Quiet! I heard something!” said Pilkington. 

Everyone stopped and listened, scanning the landscape. 

“It’s only the ice, Will.” Patterson sighed. 

“There it is!” Jopson gasped fearfully. The others looked to where he was pointing and stared in horror at the monstrous, white face of the giant bear-creature in the shadow between two ice towers. It seemed to be watching them. 

The corporal took a shot. 

It vanished in the puff of smoke from Paterson’s rifle. 

“Where is it!?” Helpman whimpered and shook. 

“Form a circle, men! Backs to one another so it can’t sneak up on us!” Paterson ordered snappily. 

Jopson threw the dead seal to his feet to make himself more agile and bared his boat knife. 

“Surprised you didn’t run off yet, Gigglemug! You don’t have a gun.” Patterson mocked nervously. 

“I’ll take one of it’s eyes out if it comes for me. That’ll make thing’s easier for the rest of you.” Jopson avowed unwaveringly. 

Pilkington, behind Jopson, was suddenly snatched up by it. Dragged away by his leg, screaming, and pulled into the snow flurry, under the ice. 

The survivors scattered. 

Jopson ran blindly towards HMS Terror. He nearly slipped as he hopped over the icy bow, but was steadied by Mr Hickey, who was on watch duty. 

"Lieutenant Little! Come quick!” Hickey called. 

Jopson realised that the others were not behind him and looked over his shoulder at the darkening landscape. 

Little was on the quarter deck and saw Jopson, covered in seal blood and shaking. 

He hurried over to the trembling young steward and put his coat over the lad’s shoulders. Little held him. 

“Jopson! What happened?!” 

“The- the –c-creature! It- it took Pilkington under the ice! H-Helpman and Patterson are still out there! We need to go back for them! Open the armoury!” Jopson demanded desperately. He was stuttering with panic and shivering with cold and fright, his pupils were shrunk beyond visibility in the lamplight and his eyes were glassy. 

Little gawped at Jopson and then snapped, “I can’t do that! Not without the Captain’s order! Right now, you need to be taken to the infirmary!” 

“No! I can hear the others on the ice! I've got to go back for them!” Jopson protested in Little's grip. 

Little shook him, “You’re in shock. You can’t hear anything.” 

“I can hear them sir!” 

“You can’t! You can’t because they’re not there! They’re gone!” 

Irving rushed over and exclaimed urgently, “Jopson! I saw the whole thing from the top rigging through my spy glass! Patterson ran back to Erebus but Helpman and Pilkington need our help right away!” Irving turned to Little and said, “Sir, I really think we should have the Captain open the armory for us!” 

Overwhelmed with fear of his own, Little let Jopson free himself. 

“No, John you fool! We shall be among the first men sent out to face that thing! Have you got a death wish?!” Little shouted. 

Jopson saw that Irving was carrying a rifle and a pistol. Jopson gripped Irving’s tunic and pleaded, “John, I’m going back for the others, give me a gun!” 

“And by god I’m coming with you!” said Irving, and he handed Jopson his pistol and a lantern. 

“Let’s go!” 

Irving and Jopson hurried down the snow ramp and onto the ice. 

“Stop! The two of you are to stay put! Come back!” Little called after them, he followed them down the ramp but would go no further. He stared fearfully at the ice, as if he would disappear if he set foot on it. 

The pitter patter of pea-sized hailstones and a thunderclap announced the arrival of the storm. 

“Come back you idiots!” Little’s voice echoed across the frozen desert. 

___________________________________________________________________________________ 

Victorian slang meanings: 

Gigglemug = A perpetually smiling face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Presumably Episode 3 is set in June and Episode 4 is set in November which leaves quite a lot of time to come up with something to put in between. I had been entertaining the idea of a midsummer chapter but couldn't come up with a plot for it, and it wouldn't have propelled Jopson's arc. However if I do a Fitzjames or Blanky centric fic in future I have space here to write extra scenes for them.
> 
> If it feels like the time line is a bit weird in this cos things that happened several months ago (in the previous chapter) are being resolved here then sorry about that, but the series does pretty much the same thing. I guess the summer months were really quite uneventful and consisted of everyone busying themselves with their duties. Just imagine Jopson cleaning, sewing and fetching things for a hungover Captain Crozier for four months to fill in the blanks haha.


	10. Megalodon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is set around the first half of episode 4, filling in some blank space between. Jopson gets grounded and has to figure out a way of making himself useful while his Captain is away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Victorian slang words of the day:
> 
> Bricky = Brave and fearless
> 
> Smother a parrot = share a glass of bright green, undiluted Absinthe.
> 
> Puckled = Old Scottish term for looking exhausted and troubled.

Lieutenant Little stumbled backwards up the snow ramp, still trying to make out the two figures running in the hail. 

“Not as Bricky as those two boys, are you, Lieutenant?” Hickey mocked with a raised eyebrow. 

“Be silent, Mr Hickey!” Little hissed at the caulker’s mate and stormed back below deck to alert Captain Crozier of the chaos. 

“George... what’s that shooting?” Crozier asked drowsily as he stumbled out of his cabin, he held his palm to his aching forehead. 

“A rifle, Captain.” said Hodgson. 

“Oh, don’t take the piss, George... Is Erebus’s hunting blind at it again?” 

Little rushed into the hall and shouted, “CAPTAAAIN! Jopson just came back from the Erebus covered in blood!” 

“WHAT!?” 

“He was a stuttering wreck and he insisted we go back and recover what’s become of the other men that were with him, sir! And Irving gave him a gun! They left together! To tango with the beast! Captain, they disobeyed my orders!!!” 

“Jesus Christ! We have to go after them immediately!” Crozier rushed back into his cabin to fetch his coat. “Without delay, Edward!” 

“Sir, I feel it’s best I stand guard of the ship!” asserted Little. 

Crozier nodded at him. 

“I’ll come with you, Francis!” Mr Blanky called gruffly, simultaneously putting his boots on and sticking his head out from behind his cabin door. “The boy’s getting a smacked arse this time! I've had enough of his tomfoolery!” 

_________________________________________________________________________________ 

Irving and Jopson weaved through the labyrinth of ice towers spouting from the pressure ridge, towards the screams for help. 

They came upon Helpman and Pilkington, coated in frost and both with injured legs, dragged, leaving trails of blood in the snow, to lie head to toe with one another. 

Irving was about to rush into the clearing where the men lay but Jopson gripped him and pulled him back behind the ice wall. 

“Where did you go?!” Pilkington wept. “Come back! Help us!” 

“Stop, something’s not right!” Jopson warned. 

“What?!” Irving questioned impatiently. 

“It had every opportunity to kill Pilkington, but it didn’t! It’s almost as if the creature laid them out for us as bait.” Jopson whispered. 

“A trap? Then how do we get around it? We can’t just leave them there!” Irving whispered back hastily. 

“We have to find it.” Jopson insisted. “It must be nearby...” Jopson looked up. “...Let’s climb up there, we might see it from on high.” he said. 

Jopson went first and helped Irving up behind him. 

“Ah! I can see it!” Jopson blurted out fearfully. 

“Where?!” Irving asked while hoisting himself up with a grunt. 

“Coming straight for us!” 

“Argh!” Irving slipped in his panic and Jopson gripped his hands to stop him from falling. “Pull me up!” 

“I’ve got you! I’ve got you!” 

“PULL ME UP!” 

Both of Irving's legs dangled freely. He looked down and whimpered when he saw the creature arrive at the foot of the ice tower. It tried to swipe at Irving’s legs. Jopson managed to pull his taller companion up onto the flat top. 

It roared at them and scratched at the ice with its talons, but it was too big and heavy to come up the way they had. 

It began slamming its weight into the side of the tower. Jopson and Irving gulped and gave each other a very concerned look when they heard the ice cracking. 

“Jump!” Irving shouted, linking arms with Jopson as the tower collapsed forwards onto another small berg. They landed on the next flat top over and saw the creature climbing up the collapsed ice, towards them. Jopson threw his lantern at the creature and set a patch of its fur ablaze but this only enraged it further. 

The two lads backed off, Irving lost his footing and took aim with his rifle while Jopson pulled him backwards along the ridge, “He makes wars to cease throughout the earth; He breaks the bow and shatters the spear; He burns the shields in the fire!” Irving recited to steady his nerves and fired a shot at the thing. 

He missed. 

“John, come up!” Jopson grunted and pulled the Lieutenant to his feet. “We can take cover in that hole there!” 

“I will be exalted among the nations; I will be exalted over the earth. The LORD of Hosts is with us!” Irving shouted and buckled backwards against Jopson with the pressure of another rifle shot. 

He would have been torn to shreds by now if Jopson were not pulling him along. 

They scrambled into a hole in the ice cliff. 

The creature was too big to get at them, but it tried scratching at the mouth of the hole to make it bigger. Jopson took a shot with his pistol. 

The monster disappeared. 

Jopson and Irving stayed still and listened for a while. Amid the chaos of the hailstorm they could hear the injured men whimpering and Captain Crozier and Mr Blanky shouting their names. 

“We’re over here!” Irving shouted back. “Over here, Captain!” 

Irving tried to climb out of the hole but Jopson stopped him with a firm grip on the back of his tunic. 

“Wait for them to come to us, sir!” Jopson pleaded. “It’s too dangerous. The creature could be waiting for us to come out into the open.” 

“Nonsense! You scared it off with your brilliant aim, laddie! Shot it right in the mouth!” Irving congratulated. 

“I’m not so sure... if I did hit it, it got away awfully quick.” 

They were startled by a scuffling noise above them and some ice falling over the hole. They reloaded and aimed their weapons in anticipation for the monster’s return. Mr Blanky’s greying mousey-brown shaggy-maned head appeared upside down above the opening in the ice and he growled, “Come out of that hole right now or I’ll thump the both of yuhs!” 

_______________________________________________________________________ 

In Terror’s lamp-lit great cabin, Little and Crozier sat at the table and Hodgson stood to their left and oversaw the disciplinary hearing. 

Irving and Jopson, now clean faced and tidied up, stood together on the opposite side of the table from their superiors. Irving looked miserable and held his hands together nervously while Jopson stood with a calm, soldierly manner, his eyes downcast, looking only mildly ashamed. 

“In Mr Jopson’s defence, Sir, IT was waiting for us to come into the open. I would have rushed in if it weren’t for his caution and then we both surely would have perished.” Irving reasoned. 

“You’re saying a bear set up a trap for you?” Crozier scoffed dismissively. 

“Sir... it’s trying to figure out what we want. How we think. It wants to lure us off the ship if it can.” Jopson asserted. 

“Why didn’t it begin with a more blatant form of bait like a seal or some fish then?” Little asked angrily. 

“I don’t know, sir.” Jopson replied timidly. 

“I hope you both realise the seriousness of this situation.” said Crozier gravely. “You both disobeyed direct orders from Lieutenant Little, demonstrating a lack of discipline and order in front of the crew. Jopson, the rebelliousness you demonstrated could become a contagion on this ship. By tomorrow morning everyone will know you acted without my order and against Lieutenant Little’s. Did I not warn you that a man of your station who thinks for himself is a threat to his Captain?” 

“Sorry sir. I will not make excuses for myself. I did act irrationally due to high emotions.” Jopson apologised calmly. 

“Third Lieutenant, if it weren’t for your actions, then Corporal Paterson, Private Pilkington and Mr Helpman may not have survived the night.” Irving seemed slightly reassured by these words. Crozier continued, “However, you must be punished also, for breaking the chain of command. Now... it wouldn’t be right to punish you both harshly.” Captain Crozier admitted frustratedly. “You are both on six water and duty owing for two weeks. Jopson, from now on you are no longer permitted to so much as touch a gun or go up on deck without my explicit command accepting times you are accompanying me. What do you say, gentlemen?” 

“Aye, sir.” Irving said moodily. 

“Very good, Captain.” Jopson accepted his punishment gracefully and bowed his head. 

Crozier turned to Hodgson and said, “Will you confirm this, second Lieutenant?” 

“Yessir.” 

“Well then.” Crozier heaved a tired sigh. “You’re all dismissed. Apart from Mr Jopson, you stay.” Crozier ordered. 

The three Lieutenants quietly left the room. 

Jopson waited in silence with his eyes still down cast, he could feel the Captain's stormy grey-blue orbs on him. 

“Jopson... will you look at me.” Crozier commanded. 

Beneath jet-black eyebrows, piercing, ice-coloured eyes flickered up at him and lingered. Crozier couldn’t help recalling the one time he’d seen a white tiger in captivity during a short stop in St. Petersburg port. 

“.... The day you turned against me... I knew it was coming.” Crozier stated gravely. 

“I don’t understand, sir.” 

“I knew you would not be aware of it yourself when it happened. When chaos arose why did you not report to me? Did you lose faith in my ability to command?” 

“It is as Lieutenant Little said, sir. I was in shock. My judgement was clouded. I lost control. I am deeply sorry, sir. I know what I did was wrong, Captain.” Jopson explained himself sadly, a wavering in his voice and a shimmering in his eyes. He fidgeted in distress. 

“When did we lose our trust in each other?” Crozier asked foggily. 

“Captain, I trust you whole heartedly. I do. But I broke your trust in me today and I’m sorry for that. Eternally.” Jopson nearly choked, he was bare, overflowing with genuine regret, but he did not break under the weight of his shame. 

Crozier was finally convinced, and a little taken aback. “I forgive you. Don’t look so forlorn.” The captain rasped and rubbed his temples. 

“Do you have a headache, sir?” Jopson asked caringly. 

“I can see that your side of the argument is wholly legitimate. As is mine. And yet you immediately cave in. You don’t even try to defend your position.” Crozier grumbled in his puzzlement. 

“It’s not my place to argue with you, sir.” 

“It wouldn't be arguing it would merely be negotiating, Jopson.” Crozier reasoned. 

“May I fetch you the medicine Doctor MacDonald prepared, sir?” Jopson offered. 

“That’s one hell of a survival strategy, I’ll give you that. But how the hell am I supposed to discipline someone like you?” Crozier grumbled. 

“I hope I can discipline myself, sir.” 

“You’re free to fetch the medicine.” Crozier sighed. 

“Yessir.” 

The young steward opened the great cabin door and caught the three lieutenants, who had clearly been listening in through the wood, guiltily pretending that they were doing something else. 

Jopson paused and gave them all a coy smile. “I don’t think loitering here is the best use of your time, gentlemen.” 

He returned promptly with the medicine. Crozier was still at his desk, flipping slowly through Fitzjames’s sketchbook. Then he remembered the note in his pocket, and he placed it atop the sketchbook. 

Crozier read the chess move written on the paper and then looked up at Jopson. 

“How I envy you.” 

“Sorry, Captain?” 

“Your smile is back already. How come you always appear so calm and contented? You seem to have more nerve than anyone on either ship.” 

“When we were in south Australia in 42. The officers were served an enormous, exotic banquet, outside. Do you remember it, sir?” Jopson asked suddenly. 

“Yeah...” Crozier replied, not sure where Jopson was leading the discussion. 

As the lad continued, he served his master a helping of the medicine with a teaspoon. “I enjoyed serving you and watching you eat all those wonderful foods that I’ve never seen or tasted before, myself. The image was just beautiful. It’s etched into my mind. Along with other beautiful things I conjure when I’m melancholy. To keep my turmoil at bay.” 

“...What other beautiful things do you conjure?” 

“Before we landed in Disko Bay, Lieutenant Irving got drunk and dared me to let him tie me to the fore mast during a storm. I’d never been on deck in a storm before. We went up and down those towering, dark green waves. I was terrified as the Terror climbed, nearly vertical, I was afraid that she would flip over onto her back. But then she tilted the opposite way, rocking forwards, and all I could see was this great wall of convulsing sea. It was riding that huge wave, on the way down, that this incredible rush came over me, and I was so enthralled I cannot say, sir!” Jopson exclaimed. 

Crozier smiled weakly at him. “There were much bigger waves in the south pacific. We measured the largest one on record near Campbell island.” 

“But I’d always been too afraid to go up on deck during high waves until I met Lieutenant Irving, sir.” 

“Can you tell me one more? Something warm, please. Gentle and warm.” 

“… Gentle and Warm… when you… saved me from the police that day in 43, sir.” 

Crozier laughed. “I was expecting something more picturesque Jopson, please.” 

Jopson moved his stay forelock out of his right eye, tucking it behind his ear. “Sorry, sir… let me think of something more appropriate…” 

_________________________________________________________________________________ 

November 21st... 

As usual, Jopson served the wardroom officers drinks in the mess during William Strong’s birthday party. The officers never drank with the seamen and marines, so the centre of attention was off in the lower deck playing all pile on with his mates. 

Jopson didn’t understand parties because they seemed just like any other officer’s dinner from where he stood. 

Something a bit more interesting happened tonight though. After becoming properly intoxicated the Lieutenants started getting more playful than usual. 

Irving, Little, Peglar and Blanky picked Lieutenant Hodgson up and held him horizontally, then they carried him to the piano and challenged him to play Mozart upside down. He did this very well and impressed everyone in the room that night. 

Usually if the men were still drinking three hours after dinner someone would invite the ever sober and ever watchful captain’s steward to join them, and this time it was Mr Blanky who yanked on Jopson’s sleeve and bellowed, “You have time to smother a parrot with me, don’t you Thomas!?” 

“Alright Mr Blanky, alright.” Jopson laughed lightly and sat with him. 

Little was sort of laughing and crying simultaneously while leaning into Irving, the back of his head against the younger Lieutenant's chest. His face had gone red and Hodgson was wafting him with an expensive looking fan. 

“Is he okay?” Jopson asked worriedly while Blanky poured him an absinthe. 

"He’s just had too much.” Blanky assured. 

“I... I love you guys... I hope you know that...” Little tittered. Irving started stroking his hair to calm him down. Irving seemed totally confused and rather concerned about what had become of the first Lieutenant. 

“We know.” Hodgson assured with a smile. 

“John.... I’m sorry I got you in to trouble over that stupid command... you too, Thomas.” Little looked up at Irving and then at Jopson. Then he closed his eyes. 

“Edward, it’s okay, you’ve got nothing to apologize for. Do not waver.” Jopson insisted and shook his head. 

“You’re okay, Edward.” Hodgson assured softly and loosened Little’s cravat and upper tunic buttons to help him breathe. 

“Now you can’t leave the ship because of me. I’m sorry Thomas... poor Tom... While I do sing, any food, any feeding, Feeding, drink, or clothing; Come dame or maid, be not afraid, Poor Tom will injure nothing.” Little sung foggily and slurred his words. 

Blanky laughed and patted Jopson on the shoulder. “I think that was aimed at you, lad.” he said. 

Hodgson laughed also, and Irving gave him a confused look. “Do you not know the poem, John?” Hodgson asked. Irving blinked at him and shook his head. “It’s the mad song! What Bedlamites used to sing in order to feign madness and receive charity!” Hodgson explained giddily. “From the hag and hungry goblin. That into rags would rend ye, The spirit that stands by the naked man In the Book of Moons defend ye, That of your five sound senses You never be forsaken, Nor wander from your selves with Tom Abroad to beg your bacon.” 

Blanky and Little joined in on the last verse; “While I do sing: Any food, any feeding, Feeding, drink, or clothing; Come dame or maid, be not afraid, Poor Tom will injure nothing!” They laughed. 

“I can sing the reply sir, if you’ll let me.” Jopson requested happily and tucked his pesky straying lock behind his ear. 

“I’d like that very much.” Little said, sounding a little grumpy, as if he would turn sour if Jopson did not oblige him. 

“Still I sing bonny boys, bonny mad boys. Bedlam boys are bonny. For they all go bare and they live by the air, and they want no drink or money.” Jopson sung back. 

“Good boy.” said Little. 

“Aww, you have such and adorable alto, Jopson, you ought to have been a singer!” Hodgson gushed. 

Jopson’s cheeks turned red, “Oh stop!” 

The officers laughed and Jopson looked embarrassed. He downed his absinthe quickly. 

“That’s more like it, Tom.” Blanky encouraged. 

“What time is it...?” Little questioned foggily. 

“Two minutes before four, sir.” Jopson replied. 

“What? Already?” Hodgson asked sadly. 

“Oh bugger, the party’s over! We have a meeting now.” Little grumbled. 

Irving requested, “Thomas, will you please go and ask the Captain if we may postpone the officer’s meeting? I think Little, especially, needs some time to sober up.” 

“Of course, sir.” Jopson stood. 

“Shouldn’t that be your job, Lieutenant?” asked Blanky. 

“Meaning no offence to our dear captain, sirs, but I am not the Gorilla's keeper. That is Mr Jopson’s job.” said the still tipsy third Lieutenant. 

Everyone laughed apart from Jopson, who looked rather out of the joke but smiled. 

_________________________________________________________________________________ 

“Oh my god...” Jopson wheezed, when he saw Private Heather lying, twitching on deck with his skull ripped open. 

Sergeant Tozer was squatting beside Heather and feeling worriedly for the injured man’s heartbeat in the breast of his woollen tunic. 

Mr Armitage stood guardedly over them with a rifle at the ready; he had seen the attack and was expecting the monster to reappear any second now and finish the job or to take another man. “It came over the gunnel, sir!” the Gunroom Steward reported. “We didn’t see it until it went back over the side!” 

Others gathered around at a cautious distance to look in horror at Heather’s exposed brains and whisper to one another. 

Sparse powder snow whistled through the cracks in the tarp. 

Jopson stayed close behind Captain Crozier, who bent down on one knee and checked for a pulse on Heather’s neck. 

The lamps squeaked like rats as they rocked in the wind. 

“That’ll freeze!” the Captain concluded with a loud and clear voice. Wide eyed, he looked up at those guarding Heather, “Move him down below immediately!” he told them, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world to do. 

Tozer stood up and shouted, “Private Hamond, take the watch!” 

Crozier stood up and took a step back. Beside Jopson and Evans, who was the youngest ship’s boy. They watched as Heather was carried away. 

Lieutenant Little approached them, looking coldest of all and as if he may soon vomit. Crozier took two steps to stand at Little’s side and said to him quietly, “It’s come onto the ship, Edward.” 

Little took in a deep breath, hoping to calm himself and stay in control. 

“It’s got Strong!” shouted Golding, second youngest, who ran into the tarp in a panic followed by two other miserable sailors. 

Everyone looked at young Mr Golding, Little and Crozier stepped forwards to meet him beside the main mast, to which Peglar clung skittishly as if the ship were sinking. 

“William Strong, Sir! It took him! We heard someone yelling for help out on the ice, then we realized Strong was missin’!” Golding reported. 

Jopson looked at Evens, for he knew the boy had been the closest of friends to Strong. Poor Evens looked like a half-drowned baby rabbit caught in a light. 

Jopson bit his lip nervously and exchanged a brief, concerned look with Little that resulted in Little casting his eyes down. 

Crozier nodded at Golding, turned to Little again and ordered him, “Go below, get thirty men into slops as quick as you can!” Little ran to the forward hatch, Crozier pointed at him and added, “Have Mr Armitage open up the armoury! Shot guns to half!” 

“Peglar!” Little boomed for Terror’s Captain of the Foretop to join him below and Peglar scurried after him. 

Jopson watched Crozier now. The Captain stumbled in a half-daze and a cold sweat, to the portside bow and stared out at the nautical twilight void. 

Jopson moved to his side, clutching the Captains great coat, which he had carried draped over his arm, to his chest. He scanned the landscape for a sign of the creature “...maybe it wants us to follow it, sir?” He suggested hesitantly. 

He looked at Crozier and received from his master a surprised and disapproving expression. 

Jopson’s eyes shimmered with desperation to be understood, yet he pressed his lips together and wished he hadn’t spoken. 

Crozier turned his back on Jopson and trudged in the direction of the armoury. 

Evens shuffled into Croziers path and stuttered pleadingly, “Ca-Captain, may I co-come?” 

Crozier looked at the shivering eighteen-year-old. “...No ship’s boys, Evans.” 

“Sir, please.” Evans begged. 

Crozier looked at Evens and thought a while. Sweat beads falling across his face. He decided he’d use his desperation for a whiskey as a weapon against the monster. “You’ll be with me.” Crozier accepted earnestly and gave the boy a firm pat on the shoulder for good measure. 

Jopson didn’t need to ask, he knew he didn’t have a hope in hell of joining the rescue party. Captain Crozier may have trusted him to be a second pair of ears and a hand to spare, but he no longer trusted him with a gun. 

Jopson felt an unfamiliar sting, a sense of being left out, as he made his way to the sick bay. 

He’d make himself useful, no matter what. 

_________________________________________________________________________________ 

Jopson stood quietly in the infirmary doorway and observed. 

Tozer sat on the chair beside Heather’s sickbed. The Sergeant had just finished explaining everything to Dr MacDonald, who stood, staring at Heather in complete bafflement. 

“Don’t worry, Lad. He’ll get the best of care we can give if he survives long enough for me to consult the doctors on Erebus about the matter. With the four of us putting our minds to it, we’ll surely come up with some solution. You should get some rest now, you look rather puckled.” MacDonald explained softly and sympathetically to Tozer. 

“I’m staying here.” Tozer swore. 

“If you insist, but you will have to leave when the others arrive...” said MacDonald. He went to pour Tozer a glass of water. 

“It’s getting rather crowded in here, Mr Jopson. Is there anything you need?” MacDonald asked. 

Jopson looked at Helpman and Pilkington in their hammocks and said, “I came to see how they’re fairing.” 

“Pilkington's heart stopped in the night.” MacDonald informed him sadly. 

Jopson looked alarmed, “Oh no! What happened, sir?” 

“I’m still not sure why some people fail in the cold so much sooner than others. Something to do with the circularity system, I presume...” said MacDonald ponderously. “We did all we could for him. He’ll be taken back to Erebus later this evening. Dr Stanley believes he may be comatose, because there's no sign of rigor mortis setting into the boy's flesh. He may not be counted out just yet.” 

“What of Helpman?” Jopson asked worriedly. 

Helpman was roused from his sleep and he shifted in his hammock to look at Jopson. 

“His foot’s a bit mangled but he’s keeping it.” said MacDonald. “I’ve given him some laudanum for the pain, so he is in a bit of a haze. With the aid of a stick he should be able to get around now. He’s just being lazy.” The doctor gave a light chuckle. 

Jopson smiled and came to Helpman’s bedside. “Are you alright, sir?” 

“You shouldn’t have killed that seal, Jopson. That’s what brought the wrath upon us.” Helpman muttered drowsily. 

Jopson frowned. 

“Now now, Mr Helpman. If it weren’t for Mr Jopson’s bravery who knows what would have become of you. He may well have saved your life. You should be grateful.” MacDonald gently chided. 

Helpman closed his eyes and relaxed in his hammock. 

“What’s all this about you killing a seal, Jopson? Isn't it supposed to take years of practice to hunt seal?” Tozer questioned with scouse scepticism. The Sergeant’s eyes were brimming with tears for Heather, but he was good at holding them back. 

MacDonald smiled expectantly at Jopson. 

“I must have just gotten lucky... it was a young one coming up for air, I’ve bled animals before...” Jopson trailed off, that was more than he cared to reveal. He pressed his lips together and turned his attention back to the dazed Mr Helpman. 

“Edwin... can you tell me anything about your experience of the attack?” Jopson asked. 

“Amaze... a maze... the tunnels... not a bear.... took my foot from me... took me under the ice... so it could torture me, have power over me, ensure I couldn’t escape it! By the time it dragged me to lie beside Pilkington, could barely move, cold and frightened! And then you came... you said it was a trap...” Helpman was getting more distressed as he babbled. 

“Mr Jopson, the officers have already questioned Pilkington, Paterson and Helpman, it’s been decided. The men have lost their minds.” MacDonald explained sadly. 

Jopson's eyes widened, “Sir! They cannot be dismissed merely because they were in shock when they were questioned. They saw something that night, they know something we don’t!” Jopson reasoned urgently. 

“Thomas, will you come with me to my berth a moment? I need to show you something.” MacDonald requested. 

Dr MacDonald had something small in his hand now. He closed his drawer and held it out to Jopson. “This was in the hole in Pilkington’s leg.” 

Jopson received from the doctor a small, white object, triangular and serrated. “One of its teeth?” 

“A shark’s tooth. Carcharocles megalodon, in fact, judging by the size. Certainly not a bear’s.” 

“Sir, I cannot say for all of its teeth but it’s front teeth appeared uncannily human.” Jopson explained. 

“The shape of the bite marks left on Helpman and Pilkington’s legs were also humanoid, but much bigger. And the back teeth left indentations of an array of animals. Seal... shark... bear... man... I pondered the possibility of the megalodon tooth belonging to a fossil, but if that were the case it would be black, what’s more the tooth still had fleshy roots attached to it. It sounds senseless... so I haven’t reported it to the Captain yet... but it seems to be some sort of hybrid creature. Though how it came about is the real conundrum.” 

“So, we can agree it’s not a bear... for sure now.” Jopson nodded. 

"Well there’s a puzzle piece.” MacDonald said with a satisfied smile. “As for what you asked... before Pilkington passed out, he mentioned something about a network of tunnels under the ice that the creature uses to appear and disappear so suddenly. Being dragged into the cold water must have put them in a paralysis and resulted in some brain damage. I must say your observation that it was using the men as live bait was quite a clever one indeed." 

“You know about that?” Jopson questioned shyly. 

MacDonald laughed and shook his head. “Everybody knows what you did.” 

“Oh.” 

“Irving was wrongly given all the credit for the rescue. Why was that, laddie?” 

“It was my righteous punishment, sir. For acting above my station.” said Jopson. 

“Aren’t you acting above your station now?” Macdonald smiled and cocked an eyebrow. 

Jopson lowered his head ashamedly. 

There came three knocks at the door. 

“Come in.” MacDonald called. 

Mr Goodsir inched the sliding door open shyly, “We’ve just arrived from Erebus, sir. Doctor Stanley would like to discuss Private Heather and Private Pilkington's conditions as soon as possible.” 

“Thank you, Mr Goodsir.” MacDonald said happily. “I’ll be back in sickbay shortly.” 

Jopson arose from his seat. 

“Urm.. Also, Captain Fitzjames is asking if Mr Jopson could please bring two bottles of whiskey to the officer’s mess.” Goodsir added skittishly. 

“Thank you for telling me, I’ll get on that right away.” Jopson said with a smile. 

MacDonald stood and turned his attention back to Jopson and cautioned, “The identity of the creature is a mystery we are all working very hard to solve. Being more open with the Captain or with Lieutenant Little about what you’ve learnt could save lives. Let that sink in.” 

“But Doctor, the Captain won’t so much as entertain the thought that it can lay traps for us. I’ve tried to convince him several times now and every time he shoots me a glare to put me in my place.” Jopson explained sadly as he followed the Doctor out of the room and a little bit of the way down the hall. 

Goodsir looked on with a sympathetic expression as he went into the infirmary. 

MacDonald stood in the infirmary doorway and advised, “As Private Heather is my befuddling burden tonight. Let Captain Crozier be yours, Mr Jopson.” he patted the steward on the shoulder and then closed the sickbay’s curtains on him to shut him out. 

In deep in thought, he turned the tooth in his hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Megalodon was discovered in 1843 so it was all the buzz in the scientific community around this time.
> 
> Tom o' Bedlam" is the name of an anonymous poem in the "mad song" genre, written in the voice of a homeless "Bedlamite." The poem was probably composed at the beginning of the 17th century; in How to Read and Why, Harold Bloom calls it "the greatest anonymous lyric in the [English] language. 
> 
> The series leaves a lot of unanswered questions about the Tuunbaq, i'm going for the idea that it takes on the attributes of the things it consumes and is like a guardian of the wildlife in the pole simultaneously which is why it doesn't lure the humans out with fish and seal, it itself is not gluttonous and never hunts in excess. But the cold boys don't know that. 
> 
> I am trying not to write Jopson to come across as too clever but he's set his mind to helping solve the Mystery of the Tuunbaq as he believes defeating it is the best way to protect his Captain. Jopson figures out what he does based on his own experience as a hunter and the fact he projects his own thinking onto the creature.


	11. Chuckaboo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This overlaps with the events of episode 4 leading up to Hickey's flogging. Hickey asks Jopson is he'll come and help kidnap the Eskimo girl. When Jopson declines Hickey threatens to hurt Irving and Neptune. Jopson tries to report this to Little.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chuckaboo is a Victorian slang word for a very close friend.

-Flash back to several months before the voyage- 

Thomas Jopson had been sat in his local pub, by himself in the corner, grimacing and sipping a lager slowly. A man a few years older than him, smartly dressed in all black, and with short blond hair, took a seat opposite him and set two more bubbling pints down upon the small table. 

“Thomas, I heard about your mother, I’m sorry for your loss.” he said sympathetically. 

“...I don’t remember you.” said Jopson wearily. 

“Alley Wakes, remember?” The man gestured to himself with a confident grin, “We were serial number neighbours at the workhouse before you went back to sea in 39.” 

“Oh yeah... didn’t you used to have long hair?” Thomas asked and gestured to the length. 

“I had to cut it when I became a butler.” Wakes beamed and sipped his drink. 

Thomas raised an eyebrow at him, “The rebellious Alley Wakes became a stuffy old butler?” Thomas asked humouredly. 

“I heard your younger brother is at the workhouse now, is that true?” 

“True.” said Thomas grimly. 

“Do you want to get him out? I work for the Brooknells, they require an additional man servant.” 

“Nobody wants to work for Brooknell.” Thomas grumbled. 

“Because they have a bad reputation for treating their servants like slaves, right? It’s true. But it’s better than the workhouse. You could get your brother out and you could move into servant's lodgings, you’d be out of your father’s way too. We get breaks across the day and one decent meal. Real food like meat and potatoes not that watery gruel they serve at the workhouse.” 

-end of flash back- 

Jopson was startled awake by raised voices. He’d fallen asleep in the great cabin with an astronomy book in his lap. The voices were coming through the bookshelf that was against the wall separating the great cabin from the officer’s mess. 

It must have been something like two o'clock in the morning and the Captains were still drinking and arguing in the mess. 

“Why are you here, Francis?! You’ve never believed in this cause!” came Fitzjames’s voice. “No one was ordered to this! We volunteered! You volunteered!” The yell was punctuated by two thuds. 

Jopson bit his lip and hoped their quarrel had not become physical. He could hear Captain Crozier grumbling a response, but it was too muffled for him to make out. 

The voices died down under the rumbling of ship’s timbers and the ice. 

Jopson rubbed his eyes and stared a while at the diagram of lunar phases in his book. Try as he might, he couldn’t memorize all eight. He ran his fingers back through his hair frustratedly. 

He heard the sliding and thud of the officer’s mess door being opened. Then heavy, rhythmless boot falls approaching. 

Crozier came into the great cabin with a third-full glass of whiskey to hand. Crozier had looked tired and miserable until he exchanged a look with the smiling steward. 

A bit of bewilderment became mixed in with the captain’s expression. “I thought you’d be in bed.” Crozier croaked. 

Jopson closed the book, held it under his arm and rose gracefully. “If you’re awake I’m awake, sir. I need to make sure you go to bed properly this time.” 

Crozier laughed under his breath and trudged over to his bed cabin. He opened the door, left it open, and made sure Jopson could see him lounging on his bed with his boots still on and the whiskey in his hand, some of it spilling onto his clothes. He gave his steward a mischievous look, intending to irritate the lad on purpose. 

Jopson showed no sign of losing patience, however. 

He brought his chair into Crozier’s bed cabin to sit nearby. He pulled Crozier’s booted feet onto his lap. Crozier made a very mild protest by wriggling his legs and threatening to kick, but he quickly simmered down and relaxed. 

Jopson smiled at him with half-lidded eyes as he pulled the boots off and set them on the floor. 

Crozier smirked and knocked back the rest of his whiskey like it was water. The Captain set the glass down on the nightstand with a sharp thud. 

“Get me some more!” Crozier demanded petulantly. 

Jopson shook his head. Crozier pressed his foot against Jopson’s stomach in a pretend kick. Jopson wrestled the captain's feet into place again and took his socks off. Then he rubbed them with a cloth, helping the blood flow into the nearly frost-bitten toes. 

“How do you feel?” Jopson asked softly. 

Crozier threw his head back onto the pillow and closed his eyes. “Like Job but with more blisters.” he grumbled. 

Jopson nodded and focused his attentions on the other foot. Crozier shifted and groaned. The massage seemed to be relaxing him. 

“Evans is dead and it’s my fault. Now he’s but a pool of blood dyeing the ice red and it’s all my fault. He was my responsibility.” Crozier wallowed. 

“Sir, Evans was the ship’s responsibility; the blame hangs on all our shoulders.” Jopson offered sympathetically. He dressed Crozier’s feet in clean, woolen socks and lay the Captain’s legs back onto the bunk. 

“Jopson... you were right about it being able to trick and trap us. You were right but I punished you for it. I’m sorry.” Crozier muttered. 

Jopson scooted the chair up closer to where Crozier’s head lay and rubbed his master’s shoulder, “Captain... You did what you thought was right. You’ve nothing to apologies for.” 

Crozier opened his eyes and looked Jopson in the face. “Is the suicide pact still on?” Crozier questioned. 

Jopson lost his smile and cast his eyes down, but the expression was at peace, like an angel. “Why do you ask, sir?” 

“You told me all those things because you knew I could shoot myself, but I couldn’t shoot you.” 

“Wherever you go, I’ll follow. Even if I must die with you, I will not deny you.” said Jopson. 

“Do you think you are a disciple?” Crozier whispered and chuckled dryly. He stared blankly at the sealing. “I’m not Christ.” 

“I am yours, sir.” said Jopson. 

Crozier stared at him side on with one eye closed and rasped, “...my devote, perhaps? What a disappointment that must be for you.” 

“Sir, it’s time I got you into your night shirt. If you sleep in this, you’ll tear open the seams and the buttons will come loose. And that’s not to mention the smell, sir.” Jopson advised calmly, the same advice he’d given his captain many times before. He leaned over Crozier and undid his cravat. 

Crozier sniffed Jopson audibly and remarked, “You smell like marzipan.” 

Jopson’s face reddened a little. “It’s almond water, sir.” 

“Can I borrow some after my bath tomorrow?” 

“You may, just this once, sir.” said Jopson. He began undoing the buttons on Crozier’s vest, which he was wearing over a black, woolen jumper and a white-collar shirt. The steward was feeling uncharacteristically nervous and fumbled more than usual. 

“It’s alright, Jopson, let me do it.” Crozier requested, becoming irritable now, he pushed Jopson’s hands away. 

Jopson watched worriedly as Crozier accidentally broke off two of his buttons. Then he ceased his Captain’s hands. 

“I’m sorry sir, but you’re too drunk! You’re plucking all the buttons off and I’m the one who’ll have to sew them back on!” Jopson reasoned and tried to assist. 

“Let me do it!” Crozier insisted. Jopson began wrestling with Crozier’s hands. “Let me do it!” 

“Ouch! You wild, Irish animal, you!” Jopson yelped when he felt Crozier bite his hand to deter him. 

The lad cradled the bitten hand and ogled the violet tooth-marks on his porcelain skin. 

Crozier laughed and said “Well, I hope you’ve learnt your lesson!” 

“I’ve learnt I like being bitten by you, sir.” Jopson teased. 

“You’re mad! Don’t push it, Jopson or I’ll thump you!” Crozier laughed heartily and turned in his bed to hide his reddening face against the pillow. 

Jopson stopped giggling, straightened and looked over his shoulder when he heard the Great cabin door slide open. 

It was a rather drunk and disheveled looking Captain Fitzjames; come to occupy the bench under the back windows that Jopson had prepared as a second bed for the presently stranded Erebite Captain. 

Before settling Fitzjames gawped a while at Jopson and the half-undressed Captain Crozier. 

Jopson stood up and walked towards Fitzjames. 

“Shouldn’t you... continue helping Francis?” 

“He insists that I let him alone for now. Is there anything you need, sir?” 

Fitzjames’s attention deficit had his gaze shifting aimlessly between Crozier undressing himself sloppily in the background and the attractive young steward looking up at him expectantly. 

“I need... drops.” Fitzjames requested exhaustedly. 

“Drops.” Jopson nodded. 

“Else the monsters will keep me up all night. Can you spare some?” 

“Just change into a nightshirt and lie down, sir, I’ll fetch you some right away.” Jopson assured. 

“Thank you, Jopson.” 

In his bunk Crozier swore under his breath as he tried to get his trousers off while still lying in his back. As Jopson left the great room Fitzjames moved to slide Crozier’s bed cabin door shut. 

__________________________________________________________________________________ 

On his knees in his narrow berth, with the door wide open in case he was called, Jopson pulled Neptune’s black fur upwards with one hand and brushed it down with the dog-brush with the other to ensure it was unmatted. Neptune loved this. 

“There’s no man more dedicated aboard either ship.” Someone remarked. Jopson looked up and found Mr Hickey stood in the doorway. “I mean that.” Hickey said with a genuine smile. 

Jopson ignored Hickey, looked down and focussed on his task. 

“Do you mind if I help to clean up some of the malt for you there, Mr Jopson?” Hickey offered. 

“No thank you, I can manage fine on my own.” Jopson assured. 

The steward looked up cautiously when he heard Hickey sliding the door shut. 

“I’d like a minute of your time please, Mr Jopson.” Hickey requested with a mischievous smile. 

Jopson looked at the caulker’s mate for a while. Then he turned his attention back to the dog and continued brushing. 

Hickey waited, then decided Jopson wasn’t going to respond so he continued with prestige, “Did you hear about Strong and Evans? How they were found? The creature cut them in half and placed Strong's upper body atop Evans’s lower half... and left the abomination on deck to torment us.” 

“I heard.” Jopson said in a low voice. 

“I heard about how you saved Mr Helpman’s life out on the ice the other week, too. You’re a Bricky lad. Prepared to go against command when you know that what you’re doing is the right thing.” 

“What I did was wrong, and Captain Crozier has taught me a lesson for it.” said Jopson, still not looking at the caulker’s mate but paying more attention to the dog. 

“...We’ve been trying to decipher this mystery of the creature for some time now, haven’t we? Who better to question than the Eskimo girl? Don’t you think? She’s been camped outside our ships for days now. Sergeant Tozer told me exactly where to find her. I say we should bring her in to be questioned. It would please the captains very much.” 

Jopson finally looked up at Hickey. The steward raised an eyebrow, “Oh get to the point. You’re asking me if I will come with you and kidnap the girl, aren’t you? Do I really look like a marauder to you, Mr Hickey?” 

“Furthest thing from it, Jopson. Poor Tom will injure nothing. I thought first to ask you because you’ve been out on the ice without the Captain’s orders. I know you'll do the right thing.” Hickey crinkled his eyes excitedly. 

“I’m busy enough to stay put tonight. But thank you very much for the offer.” the steward declined politely. 

Hickey squatted beside Jopson and brushed some of the shed dog hairs from the floor into a pan. 

"There’s another reason I chose you.” said Hickey. 

“Oh really.” Jopson said disinterestedly. 

“I think we have a lot in common, Mr Jopson.” 

“I have my doubts about that, Mr Hickey.” 

“We’re both poor men, but clever ones.” mused Hickey. 

“With all your plots, I’m sure your much smarter than I.” Jopson played coy and fluttered his thick, dark eyelashes at the caulker’s mate. 

Hickey continued shrewdly, “We both have some interesting cards to our chests. But what I don’t understand is how you put up with all this harsh treatment you receive from command. Look at this place.” Hickey paused and observed the room, “This would be as big as a Lieutenant’s berth if it weren’t for Captain Crozier’s pantry taking up half the space. Sometimes I think these upper-class twits go out of their way just to make things worse for us. All our set receives must be lesser, for we are lesser. Or at least that is what they want us to think.” 

“They are us, Mr Hickey. What you’re feeling is a sense of reverse snobbery.” Jopson said peaceably while continuing to groom the fluffy the dog. 

Hickey sighed and stood up, leaving the dustpan and brush on the floor. “You really are Captain Crozier’s pet.” He sneered. 

“I would have said ‘Devote’.” Jopson shrugged. “I suppose it depends on the man.” He smiled proudly up at Hickey. 

“Are you suggesting that I’m more of a pet than you are?” Hickey questioned and raised his eyebrows. 

“I’m suggesting you’d like to be. Why else would you try to take up the sole responsibility for retrieving the Eskimo girl? You want his attention.” Jopson deduced. 

Hickey grinned cunningly, “So, you definitely won’t come?” 

“Consider this a rejection, Mr Hickey.” 

“Someday you’re going to wake up... and realise that this structure that you’ve weaved yourself into is a fabrication.” 

“Let not steadfast love and faithfulness forsake you; bind them around your neck; write them on the tablet of your heart.” Jopson advised. 

“What store do you have in these foolish officers? Do you think rank accounts for power and responsibility? For respect?” Hickey questioned. 

“I do.” 

"Then what of Lieutenant Irving?” 

“What of him.” 

“Your chuckaboo’s one strapping fellow with no sense of power and responsibility. He’s only a Lieutenant because he’s a brave and upright lamb. But he’s absolutely fumbling, without your protection he’d trip over his own two feet and crack his head open on the ice.” Hickey mocked. 

“Irving’s not as feckless as all that.” Jopson scoffed. 

“Oh no? Do you know what he said to me?” Hickey questioned and squatted beside Jopson again. 

“I imagine he told you to get lost.” Jopson grumbled. 

“He and I had a nice long chat, last summer, he advised me on my affairs with Mr Gibson.” 

“He did? Well I admit that was foolhardy of him. I did tell him to keep his nose out of it, after all.” Jopson wanted to face palm. 

“He told me all the ways a fellow sodomite can avoid thinking about the temptations of the world. Study, watercolours and climbing exercises, he said.” 

“Hickey, Irving is an innocent man, please leave him be.” Jopson requested. 

“Oh, I don’t think he is as innocent and pure as he pretends. Just look at all the useless things he busies himself with so he doesn't have to think about you.” Hickey said teasingly. 

Jopson shot him a glare. “Get out of my berth, Mr Hickey.” 

“If you ever report on me again, Mr Jopson, here’s what I’ll do to Lieutenant Irving...” Hickey leaned a little closer and whispered some of the most grotesque words in the English language into Jopson’s ear. 

Jopson lost his patience and stood up. “You won’t get near him! I’m going to tell command everything!” he declared. 

Hickey arose also. He slid the door open and backed slowly out of the room, “Are you going to repeat my filthy words to those prim and proper officers in there? You’ll only confirm their beliefs that you are criminal class scum, same as me!” Hickey laughed mockingly. 

“So much as look at Irving again and I’ll force feed you arsenic you dirty rat!” Jopson growled and squared up to Hickey. 

Neptune whined fearfully as he watched two the men argue in the hall just outside the pantry. 

“If you think that’s bad then just wait until you hear what I’m going to do to that dumb mutt.” Hickey sniggered. 

“Keep it up and you’ll find yourself in the gallows!” Jopson threatened. 

Mr Gibson rushed up the hallway and intervened, “Mr Jopson! Don’t let him get under your skin like this! Don’t you see he’s trying to provoke you into starting a brawl?” Gibson stood between the two men. 

“Why run to his defense? Gibson. He soiled your bed sheets for Christ's sake!” Jopson seethed and shook his head. 

“I’m just trying to keep the both of you from brawling, sir.” Gibson pleaded. 

“You’re lucky I’m not a violent man, Mr Hickey, or I would have marched into Lieutenant Little’s berth and shot you with his pistol by now.” Jopson spat. 

“Now now, Tom. You can’t do anything to me until after I’ve committed the crimes. And it’s not your station to worry about such things anyway. Aren’t the Captains meant to keep us all safe and happy? Don’t you trust them to do that?” Hickey jeered. 

“What are you all doing here? Get back to your posts!” Little ordered, coming up the hall towards them. 

“Lieutenant Little, I must report, Mr Jopson threatened to shoot Mr Hickey over a quarrel just now!” Gibson explained urgently. 

Jopson gulped fearfully. He hadn’t expected that from the subordinate officer’s steward. 

Little sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, “I'll take this into consideration, Mr Gibson. However, the three of you are to sort out your quibbles in your own time. Right now, you all have tasks at hand. This disaster with Evans and Strong is no excuse to be dallying in the hallway.” Little grumbled cagily. He let has hands fall to his sides but clenched his fists and tensed his broad shoulders in that stiff, circumspect manner of his. “Mr Jopson, you are to prepare the great cabin for an officer’s meeting. Hop to it.” 

Little carried on into the great cabin and Jopson followed him anxiously. 

Utterly drained, the first Lieutenant dropped himself onto the chair near the Captain’s tea table, as if his bones were made of lead. 

Jopson eyed him cautiously while lighting the great cabin lamps. 

“The rest of the wardroom officers are still looking over the autopsies in the infirmary. They had me go on ahead.” Little informed and took a few whiffs from his snuff box. “Dr MacDonald didn’t want me to get too nauseous.” 

“Edward, I need to tell you...” 

Little interrupted, “What was that quarrel between you and Mr Hickey over? I don’t believe I’ve ever heard such aggressive tones from you.” 

“Edward, he...” 

“Don’t tell me he tried to seduce you...” 

“Will you shut up and listen?” Jopson asked angrily. 

Little looked astonished. 

“Mr Hickey said he was going to do really horrible things to Lieutenant Irving!” Jopson gave Little a worried stare. 

“What sort of things? Be more specific, man.” Little commanded. 

Jopson started packing away the bed linens on the bunk under window that Fitzjames had slept in the night before. 

“That Hickey’s not right in the head, sir, he’s a cruel man.” Jopson tried to explain but didn’t feel comfortable quoting the Caulker’s Mate directly, he hoped the concern in his eyes and voice would be enough to convince Lieutenant Little. 

“Oh Thomas, there’s no need to get all worked up about Mr Hickey’s queerness at a time like this. I thought you'd learnt of it a long time ago; I'm surprised it came as such a shock to you.” He looked at Jopson sympathetically. 

“That’s not what I’m...” Little cut him off again. 

“Right now, we have this monster to contend with. Didn’t you hear what it did to Evans and Strong? It’s toying with us. I can’t believe they took that abomination down to the infirmary; it should be expelled from the ship before it attracts an even worse demon.” Little decided grimly, he stared at the floorboards and put his fist to his lips in thought. 

Jopson cleared away Croziers books, maps and papers and heaved a frustrated sigh. 

He walked over to Little and bent to clasped both of his hands together in his. Little looked up at Jopson with curiosity and a very weak glimmer of hope. “Edward, I’m warning you now, be careful of Mr Hickey. Watch him.” 

Little squeezed Jopson’s fingers and gave him a desperate look. Desperate for a prolonging of this physical contact. This was the closest he’d been to Jopson since he’d let him cut his hair in June. 

As the Great Cabin door slid open noisily, Jopson pulled has hands away quickly, clasped them together behind his back and took two steps away. 

The Captains, the Lieutenants and Doctor MacDonald arrived in the great cabin. 

Jopson gave them all a brief glance of acknowledgement and left with his head down. For most he was discreet and easy to ignore. 

___________________________________________________________________________________ 

There was a brawling, hysterical congestion around the upper deck stairwell. Jopson stared at the flurry of men, with a jug of hot water in his hand. 

Seeing he could not get from A to B without spillage, he returned the jug to the kitchen and went in search of an officer. 

Upon his return he spotted on the other side of the frenzy, Irving looking bewildered and trying to shout the men down. 

Jopson tried to make his way through the men, over to Irving’s side. He felt a blow to his back and stumbled forwards into Irving’s arms. The young Lieutenant steadied him. 

“Thomas! What’s going on?” 

“Mr Hickey is missing! Along with two of the Seamen!” Jopson reported. 

“The creature must have gotten them! I’ll come back soon; I’m going to alert the captain!” 

Irving hurried back to the great cabin. Jopson saw Peglar and Blanky and a few other officers struggling to get up the stairs and shouting down those responsible for the panic and congestion. 

Jopson tried to assist the mates and push the fools up the stairwell but was met with a boot in the face. 

He stumbled right backwards and found himself on his back. Somebody, probably by accident, stamped on his fingers. He pulled himself up before the stampeding got any worse and saw Irving beside him again. 

Then he saw captain Crozier running up the hallway. Jopson panicked; if this was a mutiny Crozier was charging head long into someone’s knife. He tried desperately to call out to his Captain and follow him up the stairwell to ensure his safety. 

Jopson was the first of Crozier’s close allies to scramble up. But once he stumbled wearily atop the freezing cold upper deck, he realized he had no coat or welsh wig. The cool air came as a shock to his lungs, he felt as if ice crystals were forming in his chest. 

The other officer's, who’s paths he had cleared, rushed past him and disappeared under the tarp. 

Jopson’s head hurt, his vision was clouded, and blood spurted from his nose. He sat at the base of the mizzen mast, leant against its freezing surface. He cradled his head in his hands and caught his breath. 

He was startled to attention by a gunshot. Followed by Captain Crozier roaring, “Everyone on your knees, right now!” 

Jopson grinned and licked the blood from his lips as he watched Captain Crozier’s silhouette on the tarp and listened to the master’s excitingly aggressive voice. 

While Hickey and the two men he’d persuaded to come along with him to kidnap the Eskimo girl were questioned in the great cabin by Fitzjames, Crozier and Little; Doctor MacDonald tended to Jopson’s bloody nose and bruised fingertips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aw, Jopson finally made Crozier blush. 
> 
> I'm pretty sure Fitzjames stays over in the Erebus great cabin a couple of nights during episode 4. He's not present when Strong goes missing but is there to discuss Evans' death which implies he arrived between those two events. We see Jopson pack away the sheets on the bench under the windows before Fitzjames's arrival in episode 4 which implies he was sleeping in the great cabin instead of his pantry, probably because Crozier's sleep pattern was becoming more erratic and Jopson wanted to get sleep but still be near by when Crozier came in drunk at odd hours and tried to sleep in his clothes without brushing his teeth or washing his face.
> 
> I was wanting to do a Hickey and Jopson scene for a while, as other fans have pointed out, they are great foils for one another. The ultimate devote vs the ultimate mutineer.


	12. Replica

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set between episodes 4 and 5. Jopson and Crozier's relationship hits its lowest point around the time Jopson and Little's is at it's highest but by the end things are quite reversed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Little's getting too touchy-feely in this.

The ship’s back windows presented a frightening abys of blackness that threaten to creep into the safety of the warm, lamp lit great cabin. The little English living room with its burgundy floral-patterned carpets and varnished wooden furniture, felt entrapped in an endless nothingness beyond its creaking walls. 

The Captain's Steward was in a rather chipper mood and hummed to himself as he poured the tea. But all the Lieutenants looked miserable and stared quietly at their saucers. Mr Blanky and Captain Crozier were on the upper deck but were to return shortly. 

Irving’s fingers twitched as he prepared to speak his mind. “I’ve never seen such punishment... surly Mr Hickey deserved to be flogged... but not like that... The Captain’s wrath is godly.” 

“I must say...” Hodgson hesitated, “The Captain’s alcoholism must have clouded his judgement. I can’t help feeling sorry for Mr Hickey. What does a man do after being flayed open that way? How can he carry on from it?” 

“Mr Hickey got what he deserved.” Little growled like a wolf warning its pups to be quiet. “Sedition will not be tolerated.” 

There was an uncomfortable silence after that. 

The Lieutenants watched Jopson when the lad began speaking in a calming voice while he wiped dust from the surfaces with a damp cloth. “A young mouse who’d set out to explore the world and see and experience everything in it, came one day upon a frog, who enticed him into his home with the promise of a good time. The mouse, being curious and naïve, agreed.” Jopson put cloth down neatly and put his white serving gloves back on, then poured more tea. Seeing that the Lieutenants were taken with his story he continued, “But to get to the frog's home they would have to cross a river. The frog told the mouse, that because he was a good swimmer, they could get there by tying their legs together. The mouse agreed. Into the river they went, and the mouse was promptly drowned. This had been the frog's intention from the start. But weighted down by the corpse of the mouse, he was slow to a void the swiftly descending talons of a hawk. The hawk ate twice as well that day. There are two morals to this story. To be wary of unequal friendships. And to be aware that those who are traitorous and cruel only make things worse for themselves in the end. The only person to blame for Mr Hickey's punishment is Mr Hickey.” Jopson finished. 

The Lieutenants looked refreshed by the change in mood Jopson had provided. They relaxed a little. 

“That’s a very queer story.” said Irving. 

“It’s one of Aesop’s fables. We’re not children waiting to be tucked into bed, Jopson.” Hodgson remarked with a raised eyebrow. 

“Sorry, sirs, I had hoped to cheer you up a little since you all look so dour this afternoon.” Jopson beamed. 

“I found it appropriate.” Little said, still with a serious manner. Jopson smiled at him and nodded. 

“I’m sorry, why would a frog just see a mouse and decide it wanted to kill it?” Irving questioned in confusion. 

“Because he was an evil doer.” Jopson replied. 

“The frog in the story is meant to be an example of an unreasonable person, John.” Hodgson elaborated. 

“That frog sounds like a whore to me!” Irving remarked in astonishment. 

Hodgson and Jopson laughed. 

“Perhaps I should have added that it was wearing frilly stockings and an ill-fitting corset!” Jopson giggled. Irving chuckled lightly, and a smile worked its way onto Little’s lips. 

Crozier and Blanky came in with a ruckus. With cold, red faces and snow on their shoulders and on any hairs that were exposed. 

“I don’t know why everyone feels it’s for them to stick their nose into this! It’s inconsequential!" Crozier snapped at Blanky. 

“If it were inconsequential you wouldn’t be so worked up about it! I’d say Fitzjames hit the nail on the head. He may have gotten the wrong end of the stick, but he had every right to confront you about it!” Blanky retorted. 

Jopson helped Crozier out of his coat and took Mr Blanky’s onto his arm so he could put them both out to dry. 

“My affairs are a private matter!” Crozier insisted. 

“We’re all in this together, Francis. If something like this is swaying your actions, it matters to the rest of us. You’re the Captain! You must lead the men forward!” Blanky insisted. 

“That’s right, I’m the Captain!” Crozier shouted back angrily. He puffed his chest out and put his hands on his hips, “And you will not instruct me in a Captain’s duties! Now go stare at the ice or something!” 

Blanky breathed out through his nose and gave Crozier a long, hard scowl. 

“All of you, out! Tonight's meeting is cancelled! We’ll reconvene tomorrow!” Crozier barked at the Lieutenants and they all followed Mr Blanky out of the cabin. 

Jopson lingered quietly, awaiting orders. 

Crozier left his be bed cabin door ajar and sat at his tiny desk with the ship’s log open in front of him. He stared at the blank page and remembered hazily this strange matter of flogging Mr Hickey. His pen had no words for it, ink dripped from the tip and ruined the paper. 

Finally, he arose, poured two whiskey’s and joined Jopson in the great cabin. 

“Will yer drink, Jopson?” Crozier asked assertively. 

“Thank you very much, sir.” Jopson said and accepted the glass. 

Crozier took out one of the punched-metal disks, put it on the hand organ and cranked it slowly. It was a Schubert melody, Gute Nacht. It sounded sad and lovelorn, like Crozier himself. 

“Put out the unnecessary lights, Jopson.” Crozier requested softly. 

Jopson set about dimming all the lamps but the one closest to Crozier. Now the darkness was within the cabin, uncomfortably close and cold. 

The captain muttered half to himself and half to his intendant, “I never should have come here. All this suffering... Sophia... oh lovely, perfect Sophia. This is Sophia’s rose scented wrath. Not that I blame her. But she is the reason I came.” 

“The heart is a fickle thing, sir.” Jopson offered sympathetically. Crozier shrugged. “Where would you be had you decided not to come on this adventure?” 

“I'd be back in Banbridge. My father's house is currently occupied by my sister and her savage little children.” Crozier stopped winding the hand organ and took a gulp of his drink. “When I try to study or write my journal there, I can hear them jumping off the furniture, running up and down the house, howling like Red Indians. Sometimes it feels like the whole building is on the verge of collapse. But I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t envious of her now.” 

“Would I have been able to visit you there, sir?” Jopson came to stand opposite him and grinned kindly. He sipped while Crozier replied, 

“You couldn’t have afforded the journey. Though if you did fall down a rabbit hole and end up on my doorstep, I wouldn’t have turned you away.” Crozier finally smiled and Jopson laughed lightly. 

After the second round of whiskey the atmosphere in the room was becoming awkward and stale. Every time Jopson timidly asked if he could leave to tend to other duties Crozier gave him a look and topped his glass up. 

When Jopson didn’t pick his glass up again Crozier snapped at him not to waste the whiskey. 

“Please, sir, it’s only four o’clock, I need to stay sober to perform my duties.” Jopson reasoned. 

“That’s your excuse? Why are your duties so important all the sudden? You've been neglecting your duties all week!” Crozier scoffed and became increasingly irritable. 

“I beg your pardon? I don’t understand, sir, what duties have I neglected?” Jopson was utterly, painfully confused. 

“You’ve been negligent, wastin’ half yer time canoodling with my first Lieutenant.” Crozier accused bitterly. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, sir.” Jopson shook his head. 

“Look at the mould growing on the floorboards there, I told you to get rid of it!” 

“I did sir.” 

“Don’t you dare contradict me, lad! Clean it again and clean it properly this time!” Crozier snapped. 

“It is clean. I can’t see any mould, sir.” 

“Clean it ten bloody times more!” Crozier demanded. 

Jopson tried to stay calm and reason with Crozier. “Why? It’s clean! There’d be no point in it, sir, I have more pressing matters to...” 

Crozier looked absolutely scandalised. He raised one eyebrow so much higher than the other it looked like one of his eyeballs was about to pop out. 

He cut Jopson off aggressively; “The point in it is that I told you to! If I tell you to pull up and apart every floorboard and clapboard of this here ship and scour ‘em down with yer bare, bleedin’ knuckles, you’ll do it. If I tell ye to yank out every single nail from every moulderin’ nail-hole and suck off every spec of rust till all them nails sparkle like a sperm whale’s pecker, and then carpenter the whole ship back together from scrap -- and then -- do it all over again -- you’ll do it! And by God you’ll do it smilin’ lad! ‘Cause you like it! And you’ll like it ‘cause I ordered you to like it!” 

Jopson looked at Crozier like a tiger looks through the bars. 

This was the first time Crozier had directed such rage at him. All he could think about is how his mother used to berate him if he tried to take away her laudanum while she was intoxicated. She’d gone so far as to throw things at him and call him much more direct slurs. Croziers drunken rambling was no were near as poisonous a snake bite as his mother’s wrath. 

“If my Captain is displeased with me, he can dismiss me.” Jopson said firmly. 

Crozier had not been expecting Jopson to meet him with this level of defiance and he was somewhat surprised by it, but still in an awful mood that he had to take out on someone. 

“Trying to wriggle away, are you? Well I will not dismiss you.” Crozier grunted stubbornly. 

“I just need to go back to my berth a collect myself, sir.” Jopson excused. 

“Stay put! Why are you so much brassier now?” 

“You’re not yourself, sir. I remember you before all this. You were a better man in the south. You’re still a good man even now; It’s the whiskey that’s made you wicked today. Please don’t let this pain you’re going through change you, sir.” As Jopson spoke he emptied his whiskey back into the decanter. 

“I’m not that man anymore.” Crozier grumbled and shook his head. He reluctantly let Jopson take the glass from him and empty it back also. “I'm only pieces of what I used to be. It's easier when you don't see what a coward I am without the drink. None of my dreams are fulfilled. My heart is hardened from the years of repulsion and alienation. It sinks like a bullet through my bones. Nothing's what it seems... I’m not myself, but more like an empty shell of what I used to be. An imitation. A shadow. A replica.” Crozier lamented dryly. 

__________________________________________________________________________________ 

Jopson returned to his berth and propped a chair up against its side so it couldn’t be opened. 

He looked at his reflection in the little mirror hanging on a cord over his bunk. 

“If the anger of the ruler rises against you, do not leave your place, for calmness will lay great offenses to rest. Let not steadfast love and faithfulness forsake you; bind them around your neck; write them on the tablet of your heart. Be watchful, stand firm in the faith, act like men, be strong. Let all that you do be done in love.” He repeated quietly to himself. A single damning tear cascaded down his cheek and he wiped it away with the back of his hand. 

With the open envelope retrieved from his bunk draw, Jopson lay back on his bed and held it to his chest. The upper half of his bed where his pillow lay was obscured by the captain’s storage cabinet. Jopson had pinned paper cut outs on to the back of it. Most of it was his astronomical revision, featuring some beautiful illustrations and charts. There was also a heavily annotated calendar and to-do list pinned there. And a few illustrations taken out of sowing kits and match boxes. 

He unsheathed the letter from the envelope. A single, folded paper with whiskey stains and ink blots. He reread it to remind himself what he meant to Captain Crozier, and what the Captain meant to him. 

“To my dear friend, Thomas Jopson. I hope you have fared well these past few years. I’m writing to inform you that I will be captaining the HMS Terror on one last mission to the arctic circle. It grieves me to admit that the admiralty has refused to make me a First. This will surely be the end of my career. To my great dissatisfaction I was permitted to select only one of the men who will be making up my crew. You are the one I chose. For your ability to perform above and beyond your duties. Not every young steward is so comely and skilled with both a gun and a needle in equal measure. Not just any man can hold a conversation with me so well as you. I hope you’ll accept my invitation to serve aboard Terror once more. I must see you again. Nothing else will do.” 

Jopson’s door slid an inch open and hit the chair with a disturbing clatter. 

Alerted, he sprung up and peaked around the cabinet. A dark brown eye watched him though the crack in the door. 

“Come into my lair, little mouse, I can promise you a good time.” Little mused giddily through the door. 

Jopson smiled and went to move to chair out of the way. 

“Been at the wine, have you, Lieutenant?” Jopson questioned and gestured to the purple stain on Little’s lips. Little rubbed his mouth on the back of his hand. 

“How much whiskey did Captain Crozier have you drink?” 

“Far too much.” Jopson sighed. 

“I must admit, this place is intolerably boring when one is sober.” 

“Perhaps we should tie our legs together and use our collective strength to leap back over to Britania!” Jopson joked quietly. 

“I like the sound of that.” 

In Little’s berth, Jopson stared at the beetle collection board hung over the bunk. “How many species of beetle are there, Edward?” 

“Oh, a few million or so.” 

“So, there were all these poor creatures, bumbling around, harming no one. Then you came along and pinned them all up in rows with unpronounceable Latin labels.” Jopson critiqued playfully. 

“You sound like my sister,” Edward sniggered, “She says I should only collect the ones that are already dead.” 

“Did you bring any butterflies with you?” 

Jopson asked. 

Edward hurried to show Jopson his glass encased butterfly board. 

“You see, I preferer these.” Jopson beamed. “They’re much prettier.” 

“It impresses you then?” Little asked hopefully. 

“Oh, it will take more than that, Lieutenant.” Jopson teased and grinned. 

________________________________________________________________________________ 

The next morning Crozier was startled awake in his tiny cabin. 

Jopson stood half inside the narrow sliding door, holding a lamp and pitcher of hot water. The Preston illuminator over the bunk was still black as night. 

“I beg your pardon, Sir. It’s almost time for breakfast.” said Jopson 

Crozier stumbled out of bed and knocked over an empty whiskey bottle on the floor. 

Jopson poured the pitcher into the basin and then put aside the bottle with the utmost discretion. 

He helped Crozier into his robe, then he prepared Crozier’s horsehair toothbrush with a pinch of bicarbonate of soda. 

Jopson made Crozier’s bed while Crozier brushed his teeth over the basin. 

Crozier spat and rinsed his mouth out, then washed his lightly stubbled face. 

When Crozier turned around, he saw Jopson waiting patiently behind him with the shaving kit to hand. 

Crozier paused and looked at Jopson in a sad, reluctant manner. 

Jopson looked innocent and confused, then he realised why Crozier might be so avoidant to approach. 

The lad laughed under his breath and closed his eyes. “You were drunk last night, sir. I forgive you.” 

Crozier was apologetic and timid. “Thank you, your patience is unstoppable.” he murmured. 

Jopson took the megalodon tooth out of his pocket and showed it to Crozier. He explained how and why Dr MacDonald had given it to him and offered it to his Captain for safe keeping. A thank you for hearing him out. 

________________________________________________________________________________ 

Jopson was expelled from the following officer’s meeting and he returned to his room, where he made the horrifying discovery that the captain’s letter to him had vanished. After a thorough search he decided he was going to have to report it either stolen or missing. 

Jopson knocked on the Great Cabin door and Lieutenant Little slid it open. 

He stared at Little with a concerned expression and the first Lieutenant stared back with exhaustion and defeatism cast over his face. 

From behind Little’s shoulder came Hodgson’s voice requesting; “No one below a wardroom officer here, please.” 

Little took a step forwards and Jopson a step back. Little then slid the great cabin door closed behind him. Jopson had expected Little to ask him to speak but the two just continued to look awkwardly at each other. 

Little pushed Jopson backwards into the dark room opposite and enclose them both within. 

“Sir, I can’t see.” Jopson said skittishly. 

Little lit a match; they could look at one another briefly before it burned out. 

“Have you ever met a man with his soul eaten out?” Little questioned grimly. 

“Sir, I have to report...” 

Little cut him off, “’Edward’.” he requested firmly. 

“E-Edward, I have to report something serious...” 

Little lit another match, “Thomas...this cold is mauling me like a beast, it’s breaking my bones and wrapping my lonely sole up in darkness.” 

“It’s concerning...” 

Little cuts Jopson off again, “I want to see summer again. I want to feel warm.” 

“Sir, one of my most prized possessions is missing. I fear it stolen.” 

“What is it?” 

“The... the recruitment letter Captain Crozier wrote for me. I need it.” 

“Why would you value a scrap of paper marked with the ramblings of a Captain that has forsaken you and treats you like a dog?” Little questioned quietly and angrily. 

“Please don’t say such things, Edward. He’s a good man.” Jopson defended sadly. 

Little pinned Jopson to the wall and nuzzled the younger man’s neck. “Please embrace me, Thomas. I need to feel something.” Little begged. 

“You... won't feel anything, even if you try. Neither of us will. We’re too numb from the cold.” Jopson uttered nervously. 

Little pushed Jopson onto his bunk and hovered over him. 

“You’re warm.” 

"Edward, you’re heavy, stop... calm down, please.” the younger man trembled beneath. 

“...Aren’t we close, Thomas?” Little asked sadly. 

“I have a knife... If you don’t get off me it’ll end up inside you.” Jopson warned timidly. 

Little growled, "Fight me if you dare. I have something much worse I could put inside you.” 

“Close is nothing, it’s worse than nothing, it’s worse than anything in the world.” Jopson whispered. 

There was a knock on the door, and Captain Crozier called through it, “Edward! I’m sending you over to Erebus! Be sure to come back with some whiskey! And a report from that medusa, Fitzjames!” 

"Yessir!"

Little got off Jopson and whispered sadly, "I'm very sorry. I didn't realize how unrequited my feelings were. I will not try to touch you again." Little left Jopson in the dark there. 

When the boot falls died down, Jopson sat on the bunk and felt for the lamp on the nightstand. He turned it on and found the letter beside it. He couldn’t remember whether he’d left it there by accident the previous day or if it might have gotten there some other way. But he was sure Little must have pried into it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep, took some lines from older screen plays and The Lighthouse.


	13. A Place At This Table

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Episode 5 from Jopson's perspective, I hope you enjoy!

Jopson sat cross-legged on a wooden stool and stared at the flames of Mr Diggle’s huge black stove. 

He was waiting to hear the water boiling in the large tin kettle. Diggle was kneading the dough for tomorrow’s bread loaves beside him. 

“I heard you had a bit of a falling out with Captain Crozier and Lieutenant Little. Is that what’s got you looking so serious today, son?” asked Diggle. 

“It was a very inconsequential spat. All is forgiven.” Jopson assured tiredly. He straightened and raised his arms to stretch. 

“Mr Blanky and Lieutenant Hodgson overheard everything. They say you’ve been letting them walk all over you.” 

“If I was, they probably wouldn’t have gotten so prickly with me.” Jopson laughed and yawned contently. 

“Everyone’s been quite moody with each other lately. I say, tis the food going bad. Nothing I can do about it though. But the most important thing in life is having a belly full of good food. Without that a man loses his mind!” Diggle decreed proudly. “We’re saving all the best stocks till Christmas now. The party will lift some spirits. But it’s going to get worse before it gets better.” 

Jopson grinned and nodded, “Certainly.” 

Irving entered the kitchen skittishly. “Jopson, so this is where you’ve been malingering?” 

“Everyone loves to be in the kitchen, John. It’s warm and it smells like bread.” Jopson beamed. 

Diggle laughed at that. 

“I was hoping to see you as we haven’t talked much since the Captain forbade you from your morning wonderings. We usually had our chats during the dog watch.” Irving explained himself very earnestly. 

“Did you miss me?” Jopson asked with a coaxing gaiety and fluttered his eyelashes. 

To venture at being even mildly flirtatious with Irving was like trying to coax forth a cat by barking at it. The playful gesture seemed only to confuse and slightly alarm the third Lieutenant. 

The ship’s cook gave another light chuckle. 

“It’s lonelier since all but ten men transferred to Erebus, isn’t it, John? How are you faring?” Jopson asked as he rose to tend to the boiling kettle and prepare the tea set. As he stooped over it his forelock fell over his eye. 

Irving watched him and replied, “Well, thank you. And you?” 

“I could complain about my earache and my bruised fingers, but it doesn't interfere much with my duties or my wellbeing, so, yes, I am also well.” 

“I’ve heard an earache can turn very serious. Did you talk to one of the Doctors about it yet?” Irving asked worriedly. 

“Yes, Dr MacDonald cleaned it for me... told me to rinse it with hot water twice a day, be careful about what I put in my mouth from now on and report back if it gets any worse.” 

“I heard that the skeletons they found of the Greenland Vikings all showed signs of ear infections.” Irving warned. 

“That’s rather disheartening. I don’t want to think we’ll end up like them!” Jopson exclaimed with a nervous grin. 

“Sorry, it wasn’t my intention to worry you further.” 

The steward tucked his ebony hair behind his ear and picked up the tea set. “I’ve never been prone to this sort of illness in the past.” 

“No, you strike me as very healthy and clean. I wouldn’t want to compare you to an unwashed heathen.” 

“Not my place to contradict an officer on parade, but merely being a heathen doesn’t always make one unclean. The Scandinavians have always put much more store in cleanliness than the British. The old Greenlanders would have been a far cleaner people than we are.” 

“Ha, you of all people would have knowledge concerning the history of cleanliness. But the old Greenlanders kept their animals in their houses with them for warmth in the darker months, as I heard it, that was part of the trouble. Animals spread a lot of disease. Maybe you should stop inviting the dog into your bed. If Neptune is licking your ear while you sleep, maybe that’s the trouble.” Irving advised. 

“Neptune licks the other ear. I’m delivering this to the great cabin, what are your duties now?” 

“I’m needed in the orlop. To order around those wicked fools that kidnapped the Eskimo girl.” 

“Give them the wrath of god.” Jopson laughed. 

“Oh, I will.” 

As Jopson made his way up the hall he heard Crozier calling him, perfect timing. He passed Blanky outside their rooms and the Ice Master gave him an encouraging pat on the shoulder. 

He caught Captain Crozier grumbling to Lieutenant Little, “I’ll put a bullet in my head before I drink Gin!” 

Jopson knocked twice on the great cabin door frame to alert them of his entrance. 

“Ah, Jopson!” Crozier rejoiced warmly. Jopson grinned and put the tea set down. The Captain’s expression and tone dampened quickly, as if plucked too suddenly from drunken revelry. “Urm... Mr Hornby’s dead...” 

Jopson looked alarmed and bewildered as he moved to stand next to Lieutenant Little. 

He glanced shyly to his side; the first lieutenant looked frozen through. Little’s cheeks and nose were burnt pink with solar winds and there was frost on his eyelashes and the tips of his sideburns. Even his brass buttons were white with frost. Little pried his eyes away when he was met with Jopson’s warm yet ice-coloured gaze, and he looked ashamedly at the floor. 

Crozier continued; “Urm, as Mr Helpman is on Erebus, would you be so kind as to collect Mr Hornby’s personal things and put them in store, for his family. Find out who his best mate was and give that man Mr Hornby’s Tobacco.” 

“Consider it done, sir.” Jopson replied with a polite lowering of his head. 

“Thankyou.” 

He turned to leave but was soon stalled by Crozier’s warm hands upon his upper arms and he stared with wide, admiring eyes at his Captain. 

Little watched them enviously and suspiciously from the corner of his eye. 

“Urm... would you recall how much whiskey is left in my stores?” Crozier asked quietly. 

“....Two bottle’s... sir.” Jopson answered. He glanced at Little and once again the first Lieutenant looked heavily at the floor and tried to appear disinterested. 

“Bring them up.” Crozier requested softly. 

“Yes, sir.” Jopson replied with an equal gentleness. Crozier released his hold on him and let him leave. 

_________________________________________________________________________________ 

After sorting this trouble with Mr Hornby out, Jopson went to fetch the bottles. 

On his way out of the pantry, staring at the last two carboys of whiskey in his hands, he collided with Little’s broad chest, clad in the cold, indigo naval great coat. 

Startled, Jopson stepped back and looked up at the desperate and pained face of the first lieutenant. 

Little’s hand ventured into the great coat’s inside pocket and pulled out a pistol. 

Doubly alarmed, Jopson stood back again. “Oh my god, Edward!” He gasped fearfully. 

Little held the gun by its barrel and offered it to him. “Take it.” he whispered. 

“What are you doing? The Captain forbade this!” 

“I can’t hold it anymore. I... you understand why, don’t you?” 

Jopson gulped tensely and accepted the gun. “Come in.” he whispered. 

He hurried to hide the pistol in the pantry, behind the pickled cabbage jars. 

Little thudded in and slid the door closed. 

“Why didn't you talk to me about this sooner?” Jopson asked. 

“I’m sorry about before... It’s difficult... to tell someone something like this.” Little said stiffly and reluctantly. “I’m not hysterical. I’m not a coward. Nor weak.” 

“Don’t worry. I’m not going to tell you to ‘man up’ or ‘pull yourself together’. What you need is more light, Edward.” Jopson brightened the room with some extra candles. “Sit and I’ll fetch you a warm drink once I’ve delivered the whiskey to the Captain. We’ll talk.” 

“But Crozier ordered me back across the ice to fetch him more whiskey.” 

“Is that the job of a first Lieutenant?” Jopson asked sarcastically. 

“If I don’t get him more by the time he’s finished those two bottles... he’ll...” Whatever it was, Little couldn’t put it into words. 

Jopson had a pretty good idea what both Little and Crozier were skirting around. 

“Go out there again and you’ll end up just like Mr Hornby.” Jopson warned. 

“That’s what I’m afraid of.” Little shook. “I don’t want to freeze to death. A bullet is quicker. I’m not afraid of dying, I just want it to be quick and painless.” He spoke like any fire in his spirit was put out long ago. His core was filled with damp ash and snow. He sat on Jopson's bunk and held his head in his hands. 

The younger man hushed him softly and squatted in front of him to be on his level. He put the bottles down on the floor and took hold of Little’s hands, “The arctic melancholia is like a sickness.” 

“I’m sick?” 

“But it’s not deadly and it’s easy to cure." 

“Have you ever had it?” 

“I’m quite immune it seems.” Jopson offered a smile and stood up. “Stay put, Edward. I’ll be back as soon as I can, I have two swift duties.” 

Jopson knocked on the great cabin door frame as he hurried in. He put the whiskey on the tea table. Gave Crozier a reassuring smile and poured some tea for him. The Captain was sat in a chair and looked quite mesmerised with the back windows. 

“Urm, can I have some of that tasmanian honey in it this time, Jopson?” Crozier asked with a smile. 

“Yessir.” 

“Please remind Lieutenant Little to bring Goodsir and Lady silence in for tea, next bell.” He requested tamely. 

“Lieutenant Little is not well, sir, I’m going to bring him some tea.” Jopson came up behind Crozier, put a hand on his shoulder and leaned over to put the tea in front of him. 

Crozier raised an eyebrow. “It’s not your duty to tend to Little. That’s for the subordinate officer’s steward. Or if you’re especially concerned, fetch him a doctor.” 

“It’s melancholia, sir.” Jopson squeezed Crozier’s shoulder before stepping away. 

“A bit of laudanum will fix it.” Crozier dismissed. 

“I know a better cure, sir.” Jopson backed out of the room with two more cups of tea to hand. 

“Jopson, some advice, lad.” Crozier said, he pushed himself from the chair and stepped closer. “If you’re good at something never do it for free.” Crozier smiled and winked at him. 

“Thankyou, sir.” 

Jopson returned to Little with some camomile tea with honey and pulled up a chair to sit opposite him in the cramped room. 

“I’m nullified... I have nothing to give you in return for your kindness.” Little muttered weakly. 

“It is my duty as your comrade and brother to show you kindness and forgiveness. I expect you shall do the same for me.” Jopson beamed. 

Little looked down bashfully. “I hope I can.” he practically whispered. 

“I must say you’ve been a miserable sight all day, Edward.” 

“Sorry.” 

“Try to perk up. It will reassure all of us.” 

“Not as simple as all that.” Little grumbled. 

“What is your present method of coping? How did you cope when we were anchored off Beechey?” 

“Reading, mostly. But I’ve read every book worth reading on this ship now. And there was also more work and more dinners last winter. With stronger wine and better food. And everything seemed more hopeful, assuring and spirited back then.” 

“I understand. Things are more difficult now. Are you very particular about the sort of books you read?” 

“I like Byron and The Shelleys. And Gothic romances set in Europe, in summer. Especially ones with pretty girls and ghosts in.” Little answered with eager certainty. 

“Then I can presume that your heart aches for the return home, and for summer?” 

Little nodded tentatively. 

Jopson continued, “It seems the men who miss home the most are most prone to melancholia. I have never missed home and have always found joy and beauty in the place I stood. I’d advise you to adapt to your environment, Edward.” 

“I can’t... this is the worse place god created, Thomas.” 

“And yet here you are.” 

“At first I was as jolly to see it as a child seeing snow on Christmas. Now it’s just painful. I step outside and I feel like I’m being pierced by a thousand knives.” 

“Try to dwell on the beauty of the ice and snow. The endless winter. The clear, starry sky with ribbons of aurora light. And did you not see the blood red and full moon at noon today on your way to Erebus? A rare sight to behold in the arctic.” Jopson offered sympathetically. 

“Even the arctic veterans we have accompanying us have fallen prey to this place’s bedevilments. There’s no way through the ice and the sun is dead.” Little cried. 

“Relax, Edward. Let go of your worries and anxieties, if only for a few minutes. They won’t do you any good.” Jopson advised. 

Little heaved a deep sigh. “I don’t think you realize how bad things really are, Thomas. I think you’re too innocent to really comprehend my burdens. But I won’t begrudge you for trying.” 

“Well perhaps I could help you better if you were more open with me? You’ve been trying to know me, but I still know hardly anything about you.” 

Little shook his head. “No one else on either ship can suffer me like you can, Thomas. I’m grateful enough for that.” He spoke tenderly and his eyes were on the verge of welling. 

Jopson smiled sadly at Little. 

They were startled by a series of bangs coming through the thin, wooden wall that separated Blanky’s room from Jopson’s. Mr Blanky managed this energetic thudding by lying on his bunk and stamping the wall with his boots. 

“Hey, Thomas! If he tries to molest you again just scream real loud! Okay!” Blanky shouted and laughed. 

“I’m okay, sir!” Jopson shouted back. Both he and Little looked at each other and blushed with embarrassment. 

“Him and his big mouth, if word gets out about my lapse of self-control I’m done for." Little said worriedly and bit his knuckle. 

“Edward, it’s ok, as far as the crew is aware, we had a minor dispute, that’s all.” Jopson reassured. 

The bells rang. They stood up, 

“I must go and fetch lady silence for Tea in the great cabin with the Captain and Mr Goodsir. She’s with Lieutenant Hodgson presently.” said Little. 

_________________________________________________________________________________ 

“We both know what’s happening!” Fitzjames shouted. 

“Oh don’t be such a marry-ann about it!” Crozier mocked in return. 

“Don’t call me that!” Fitzjames snapped back at Crozier. “You insult me every chance you get. You put all your burdens on me! You got yourself into this mess! You can get yourself out!” 

“No! You got yourself into this mess!” Crozier retorted. 

Stood guard with is back to the great Cabin door, Jopson could hear the two captains barking at each other inside. Little was stuck in there also; he must have been hanging his head in utter helpless despair. 

Goodsir and Silence, after having their tea interrupted by the rivalry of Fitzjames and Crozier, had since vacated into the orlop, below. 

Blanky had been promptly driven out by Crozier with orders to make an unnecessary ice report, in the deadly conditions above. Punishment for interrupting the brutal beating Crozier had initiated upon his second. 

Jopson watched as Dr MacDonald came up the hall, looking very unsettled. The Doctor stopped outside Blanky’s room. Blanky came out with his cold weather slops over his naval uniform, ready to brave the arctic. 

“Mr Blanky...?” MacDonald questioned nervously while watching the Ice Master struggle to slide shut the door to his cabin. It had been jammed by the humidity changes contorting the ship’s timbers. “What’s hap’nin?” 

“He’s ill with it now.” Mr Blanky replied worriedly. “Fetch your coat and come up...” 

MacDonald turned to fetch his slops and Blanky went up the ladder. 

Fitzjames was furious, “You’ve been idol at your post for months now! Sending all your men and the Eski girl onto my ship! Getting yourself so drunk you can’t piss without your steward’s help!" 

“Sirs, please, behave like gentlemen!” Little implored desperately. 

Fitzjames snapped at him, “Oh grow a backbone, Little! Stop shaking in your boots in the corner there, looking like a beaten dog! This ship is as much yours as it is this mick lushington’s and he has no right to be sending you on petty officer’s errands in the frozen tundra!” 

As Jopson listened to the arguments vibrating through the door behind him he could also hear running and panicked voices above him. 

He saw MacDonald coming up the hall again, followed by Irving and a few other sailors. Then there came a deathly scream from above, preceded by a gun shot. The three rising voices in the great cabin were suddenly silenced. 

“What was that?” Fitzjames questioned alertly. 

“The thing! It’s here!” Crozier shouted, as if he could feel its closeness to his precious ship. 

MacDonald climbed up the ladder of the central hatch and partially opened it. He saw the mizzen mast falling towards him and jumped back down in a panic, followed by a cloud of snow. Flying splinters left two shallow cuts on MacDonald’s face. 

The door behind Jopson slid open and he stood aside to let command through. 

Irving hurried up the ladder and tried to lift the hatch, but it was blocked by the fallen mast. “It’s jammed!” shouted Irving. 

“Forward Hatch!” Shouted Crozier. 

“It’s been sealed, sir, just this morning!” Gibson said fearfully. 

Jopson hurried into the great cabin to fetch Crozier’s coat. There, through the row of windows, obscured in the snowstorm yet illuminated in the polar astronomical twilight, the captain’s loyal servant saw the horrible demon climbing on the back of the ship. 

Jopson fled and warned the high-ranking officers in the hall, “It’s at the stern!” 

_________________________________________________________________________________ 

(Skipping over that epic fight with the Tuunbaq and Mr Blanky losing his leg as y’all are probably getting tired of me repeating stuff from the show. Sorry.) 

Jopson padded into the great cabin as quietly as a cat and shifted a toppled over chair upright. He was followed by Fitzjames and MacDonald, moving slowly and cautiously to stand before Crozier and Little, who’d already taken up seats by the table. 

The Captain looked awful. Resigned to drowning in the deep end of alcoholic woe. Guilt, self-loathing, utter despair. He blamed himself for the loss of his best friend’s leg, yet the tragedy had awoken him at last to the fact that he could not destroy himself without hurting the people closest to him. He would have to change. 

The steward slunk guiltily back out of the room, feeling quite responsible for his captain’s lapse of well-being, though he’d done more than his best to stem it. 

“Jopson!” Crozier shouted and pointed to him before he could make his exit. He backed up and looked fearfully at Crozier. 

“I'd like you to join us.” the Captain grumbled nauseously. “Sit down.” Crozier slapped the wooden top of the table twice. “Here, at the table.” 

Jopson observed timidly that the four other far more important and intelligent men were now sitting and looking at him with unreadable stares. He Joined them reluctantly and gave Crozier his unwavering, glaucous attention. 

“I'm afraid... I need to ask the four of you for a favour that will likely be a great imposition.” Crozier looked at each of their concerned faces, lingered a while on Little before continuing with gesticulation, “And... There couldn't be worse timing, I understand. But there also couldn't be a greater need.” Crozier tapped on the table nervily with his finger. 

Jopson was carefully observing every contortion in Crozier’s body and watched the vein on the back of his captain’s weathered hand pulsate quickly. Jopson could see and smell the fear in Crozier’s sweat, and that the older man was tense; feeling exposed and ashamed as he surrendered the truth of his vulnerability. 

“I'm going to be unwell, gentlemen.” Crozier forced a pained smile and nod, as if trying to reassure the others. “Quite unwell, I expect. And I don't know for how long. A week? No. Two. Perhaps... Perhaps more.” 

Crozier switched between looking very pained and enforcing exhausted, embarrassed laughter, further taking his nerves out on the table. Jopson felt as if those knocks were directed at him. “And not only must you draw the tightest possible curtain around what is happening, but you must also care for me... as well, as I will not be able to care for myself.” 

“You needn't worry for a thing, sir.” Jopson swore, a look of dedication and determination abounded. Fitzjames looked bewilderedly at Jopson and then back to Crozier. 

“I will be in no position to command.” said Crozier, a tear rolling down his cheek as he stared into Fitzjames’s eyes. “That will be for Captain Fitzjames, for all things. And you must be my proxy here, Edward.” 

"Francis...” Fitzjames began but was cut off by Crozier raising his hand and almost crying out, 

”No. I'm sorry, but we mustn't stop until it is finished. I mustn't stop, and you mustn't let me.” He looked up from the table again, his grey eyes welling with tears, “I may... I may beg you.” 

Fitzjames looked ponderously at his feet. Then when Crozier rose to fetch the two carboys of whiskey from beside his dip circle on his back shelf, Fitzjames exchanged a concerned and rather disgusted look with Dr Macdonald. 

Jopson was hanging his head sadly, when Crozier passed one of the bottles to him he looked up at Crozier expectantly. 

“Take this out to the spot where the thing's blood is and pour it out there.” Crozier requested before guzzling a final swig from the second bottle and handing that also to Jopson. 

The lad read the labels of the bottles diligently and made a secret decision not to waste such expensive drink. 

Jopson watched carefully when Crozier turned to Little and presented the Lieutenant with his pistol, holding the handle out for him. “Here. Take this.” Crozier pleaded. Little hesitated. “Take it.” Little finally gave in. “Don't give it back to me until you see me on deck again... in full uniform.” Crozier penetrated Little with a lasting stare. 

Crozier heaved a heavy sigh and inched shakily towards his bed cabin. 

Once the door to Crozier’s lair was resealed, Little relinquished the pistol upon the table top as if the very material of it seared the flesh of his palms. He made an effort not to hyperventilate and looked helplessly back at Fitzjames, who’d seen the manner in which the gun repulsed Little. 

The cogs in Fitzjames’s head were turning. 

Fitzjames followed Jopson, warbling quietly about various anxieties as they went. They walked onto the ice and stopped before the frozen puddle of blood. A peppering of new flakes was beginning to hide the mark. 

“Suicide, Captain Fitzjames?” Jopson questioned somewhat coyly. 

"Why else would Crozier have relinquished his gun? Why else would Little be so afraid of it? I’m starting to suspect that they both are on the brink of self-destruction, damn their eyes.” 

“You’ve hit the nail on the head, so to speak, sir.” 

“Why didn’t you explain this matter to me sooner, Jopson?” 

“A myriad of reasons I’m afraid, sir.” 

“I should have figured it all out sooner, it was the furthest thing from my mind. Had I known I would have gone about things differently tonight.” 

Jopson poured a portion of one of the bottles away. Then screwed it shut and hid it in his coat pocket. 

“You’re keeping it?” Fitzjames asked in surprised. 

“If you don’t object, sir.” 

“No, I merely expected you’d follow Francis’s orders to the letter...” 

“He said to pour this were the thing’s blood was, but he didn’t specify how much, sir.” 

“Witty gigglemug.” Fitzjames sniggered. “I won’t object as long as I can trust you to keep it well away from Francis. I fear he’ll find a way to sniff it out no matter where you hide it.” 

“I’ll share it with Mr Blanky. He deserves it. 1776, sir.” Jopson showed Fitzjames the date on the bottle. 

“A miserable year!” Fitzjames exclaimed. 

Jopson giggled and started emptying out the second decanter but Fitzjames stopped him. “Can I have that one, please?” asked Fitzjames. “Seventy-one years... It would be a shame to waste it.” 

Jopson smiled and gave it to him. “Thank you.” The Erebite captain took out his own whiskey flask, emptied it out on the red ice and refilled it with the older, more expensive brand. He returned the empty decanter to the steward and took a long swig from the metal flask before returning it to his pocket. 

"I was happy your mind was so unburdened by the matter of suicide, sir.” 

“It was inconceivable. What drives a man to it?” 

“I don’t know, sir.” 

Jopson started back up the snow ramp and Fitzjames followed him closely. 

"I was worried about Francis's misery from the start. This is a strange voyage... I’ve never failed so badly to keep everyone’s spirits up. I can’t reconcile it.” 

“I thought it best not to bother you with it. Melancholia is highly contagious.” 

“This is Francis's greatest afront to me yet!” Fitzjames declared. “How dare he threaten to leave me to clean up his mess!? I was meant to be a third on this expedition! I don’t know what I’m doing!” 

“He’s relinquished everything to you now. He is at your disposal, sir.” Jopson reminded softly. 

“This isn’t what I wanted for us.” Fitzjames sighed. 

Jopson stopped and Fitzjames halted also. He turned to look Fitzjames in the eyes, “He’ll be a better man once he’s through it, sir. Believe me.” Jopson pleaded. 

Fitzjames looked surprised a moment, then he smiled and nodded. 

_________________________________________________________________________________ 

(Jopson visits Blanky in sick-bay.) 

“Ha! Look who’s back!” Blanky shouted playfully, shifting his pipe about in his mouth. 

“Good day, Mr Blanky” 

“I’d never hear him coming, the little spy!” Blanky laughed. 

“How do you feel?” Jopson asked warmly. 

“Like a wounded animal!” Blanky snorted. 

“This is your third visit today, Mr Jopson. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised; your berth is so small it’s practically non-existent.” MacDonald giggled. 

“Francis could keep Jopson in an empty whiskey bottle and the lad would still be grateful and contented as ever!” Blanky laughed. 

“Did Mr Honey make a new leg for you yet?” Asked Jopson. 

“Aye, look at that beauty.” Blanky moved the covers off his legs to show Jopson. “Mahogany and leather, that is.” 

“Delightfully designed.” Jopson evaluated and ran his fingers along the leather shin. 

“The most tragic thing of all is that old Blanky will no longer be able to leap and footle about the ship’s rigging like a monkey.” MacDonald lamented but smiled humouredly. 

“I may yet surprise you.” Blanky folded his arms, winked and grinned confidently. 

“You can barely walk in that contraption, Tommy.” MacDonald reminded with a sympathetic smile and a shake of his head. 

“Never fear, dear Alex, I just need time to get used to it!” Blanky assured. 

“If you ever need any help walking, Mr Blanky, I would like to assist you. I’ve had to deal with a lame leg in the past, I think I understand how frustrating it is, not being able to run and jump as one used to.” Jopson offered tenderly. 

“Oh, don’t fuss over me like an old woman! I've seen you’ve not totally shaken that old limp of yours either, lad, though you’re good at hiding it. Now there’s two crippled Tom’s aboard, we’re no good together.” Blanky sniggered.


	14. Mongoose

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crozier's sick from alcohol recovery and Jopson is trying to look after him. This is like the most popular subject for Jopson/Crozier fanfics so yall know the drill. I've kept it wholesome and fluffy, enjoy!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jopson Protec!

The further the vessel sloped to one side, the dimmer the lamps in the hallway burnt, for the whale oil was tilted. No human murmuring rose above the noisy ice that ensnared them. 

As Jopson made his way up to the great cabin with extra covers over his shoulder and a jug of hot water in his hand, he steadied himself against the slippery, black wall. Ice was forming between the boards and all surfaces glittered with light frost. 

It took all his strength to push open the jammed door, snapping ice and ripping off varnish as he did. He kicked it closed again, the bluntness of the impact sobered him to the numbness in his toes. 

Ghostly moonlight cascaded through the frosted windowpanes in thick beams, which illuminated copious amounts of dust in the air. Anything unhighlighted in lunar silver was blindingly black. 

He shuffled softly through the beams and felt in the darkness for the handle to Crozier’s quarters. 

Inside was a deeper blackness. Neptune whined, his eyes and nose caught the moonlight. The dog was curled up by Crozier’s bed and raised its head alertly. 

Thanks to his familiarity with the cabin Jopson was able to place the jug safely upon the nightstand and put the extra blankets over the sleeping Captain. 

He cast a weak, orange light with a Promethean match and turned on one of the lamps and two of the lopsided candles. 

He felt Neptune brush against his leg and petted him, “Hello boy, with twice as many legs, the tilt of the ship must be far less bothersome for you.” Jopson cooed quietly. 

Crozier shifted and groaned feebly in his bed. 

“I beg your pardon for waking you, sir.” 

“Nothing to apologise for.” Crozier muttered. 

He peaked out from beneath his blankets in confusion, watching his attendee hang a chain of coloured paper snowflakes on the wall. 

“What’s that for?” Crozier rasped dryly. 

“It’s two days until Christmas, sir.” the lad beamed. 

“Oh.” Crozier rolled his eyes and sunk deeper into the blankets, shivering. 

“Erebus will be holding a big party, sir. And Captain Fitzjames will probably want to visit you tomorrow and give you a present and some cake...” 

Crozier cut Jopson off snappily, “I don’t want him to see me like this.” 

“Yessir." Jopson sat in the chair at Crozier’s bedside. “...Please inform me if you want any guests, you must be getting tired of having only me as company by now, sir.” he offered sympathetically. 

“Yours is the only company I don’t completely hate right now.” 

“Sir, if you’ll lie on your back, please.” Jopson requested and dipped a flannel into the hot water jug. 

Crozier turned slowly in his bed and relaxed as Jopson tenderly cleaned his face and neck with the hot towel. 

“You’ll never guess what I’ve been teaching myself, sir.” 

Crozier laughed lightly, “What?” 

“I've memorised the order of all eight lunar phases now; New moon, Waxing Crescent, First Quarter, Waxing Gibbous, Full moon, Waning Gibbous, Last Quarter, and Waning Crescent. I know it’s not very impressive to you, sir, but it took me a great deal of effort.” 

“...what kind of moon is out tonight?” Crozier asked in a sickly croak. 

“A waning gibbous, sir, very bright and close. Almost as good as daylight when it reflects off the ice, sir. It’s easy to see all around, that’s why Captain Fitzjames is presently holding an officers meeting on Erebus. It seemed the safest time to do it.” 

“It sounds as if there’s no one on board.” 

“There are eight still here, sir, ten if you include us two. But half of the men are in sickbay.” 

“So that’s why... it’s so quiet.” Crozier shuddered. 

“Did you enjoy your sleep, sir?” 

“...no... sorry... I’ve been plagued by nightmares.” 

“What sort of nightmares, sir?” Jopson asked sympathetically. 

“I was lost in some hilly valley... at night... a terrible gale. I saw a skeletal horse with eight long legs, like a spider. It was just standing in a field like regular horses do. But when I sighted it... it looked right at me. Then it came towards me. Stopped as if it wanted to get a look at my face, and then it turned away and walked off.” 

“Mr Blanky told me a story about an eight-legged horse once. Were you maybe just thinking about that?” 

“I don’t know if I recall that one.” 

“Blanky says if you see a monster in a dream but it doesn't attack you then someone near you is making curses or being cursed. But if it attacks you then you have been cursed, and you’d better be wary about the people around you who may feel wronged by you.” 

“Haha, Jopson, you can't believe everything ol’ Thomas Blanky says.” Crozier chuckled under his breath. 

“You're right, sir... I’ve heard that if you look at your hands in a dream you can wake yourself up, if that helps.” 

“That’s an old wives' tale.” Crozier dismissed. 

Jopson rung the cloth out a final time and dabbed Crozier’s face with a dry towel. 

“Can you feel your toes, sir? Or would you like me to rub them to help with the circulation?” 

“That won't be necessary. You’ve already given them a good rub this morning. What about your own toes?” Crozier asked. 

“Well, sir... I’m sorry... they are quite numb, sir.” 

“Take yer boots and socks off and stick yer feet under my blanket here.” 

Jopson blushed, “Are you... sure about this, sir?” 

“Yes, chop chop, if you lose any toes it’ll be harder for you to fetch things for me and that’ll be a right nuisance. There’s no shame in sharing some body heat in the goddam’ arctic. Put your feet up!” Crozier demanded and patted the bed where the wooden frame dipped down. 

Jopson shyly slid his feet under the warm blankets. Crozier shuffled onto his side to face the lad. 

He felt Crozier’s stomach through the nightshirt with his toes. He was going to retreat but Crozier held him by the ankles. 

“These are like icicles, you careless boy.” Crozier sighed and kneaded the freezing toes in his hands. 

Jopson relaxed and plucked the small bible from the nightstand, “Shall I read to you, sir?” he offered sweetly. 

“Read me the bible on my sick bed, in this delirium, and I might think it is my funeral already.” Crozier scoffed. 

“Something else then, sir? Lieutenant Little gave me his copy of The Last man by Marry Shelly, he says that’s his favorite book.” 

“I've read a bit of that one before, found it boring and depressing.” Crozier grumbled. 

“Well we can’t have that, sir.” Jopson beamed. “Dr MacDonald said I must keep you from dwelling on anything negative. Have you anything light-hearted I may read to you, sir?” 

“Read Swift... from my bookmark.” 

“Johnathan Swift?” Jopson asked, he shuffled the book stack and found Gulliver’s Travels. “But sir, isn’t this a children’s book?” 

“I think you’ll find anything beyond chapter eight is a little too complex for a child, though I suppose if the child was destined to be a philosopher they may continue beyond that point." Crozier laughed. “Did you read it as a child?” 

“No, sir, but my younger brother had an illustrated booklet of the first few chapters. Something about an encounter with miniature people on a made-up island? ...I never owned or borrowed a book until recently, sir.” Jopson fidgeted nervously. 

“How did you learn to read so well then?” Crozier asked in confusion. 

“My father was a merchant, sir. Not a very successful one, I'm afraid. He wanted me to be able to read charts, receipts and lists, and do the necessary mathematics for stocks and sales. If I hesitated to read what he presented me with he would cane me, sir.” 

“Were you caned often as a boy?” Crozier asked sympathetically. 

“I was, sir. But I devised a cunning plan to avoid it.” Jopson grinned and Crozier smiled back at him and nodded for him to continue. “I read what he was going to show me the day before he showed it, that way I didn’t hesitate. All my fumbling was done the previous day, when he wasn’t watching me. He was so impressed at how quickly I read after that, that he decided his work was done. I was regarded as the swiftest reader among my siblings, little did they know it was because I read everything twice.” 

“Tiny Tom outfoxing authority even back then.” Crozier chuckled lightly. 

“Sorry, Captain, I hope you don’t think me too slippery.” Jopson excused bashfully. 

“Not at all. You’ve only ever been driven to outwit those who have caused you great pain... It sounds as though your father indirectly taught you to study in your own time.” 

Jopson stared silently and affectionately at Crozier. 

“Captain?” 

“Yes?” 

“Is it too bold to ask how often you were caned as a child, sir?” 

“I was... mostly caned in school...” Crozier admitted shyly. “But my dad used to beat me for misbehaving if ever he could catch me... I was always good at running away... one doesn’t go to sea aged twelve if one enjoys being at home... I suppose everyone who goes to sea is trying to... get away.” 

Jopson nodded in agreement. 

He opened the book to its halfway point and cleared his throat. “Chapter 8: I had always a strong impulse that I should some time recover my liberty, though it was impossible to conjure by what means, or to form any project with the least hope of succeeding. The ship in which I sailed was the first ever known to be driven within sight of that coast...” 

__________________________________________________________________________________ 

“The stone cannot be moved from its place by any force, because the hoop on its feet are one continued piece with that body of.... ad-am-ant...” Jopson trailed off when he saw Crozier’s peacefully slumbering face. 

He closed the book, carefully pulled his feet from the warm blankets and hurriedly dressed them again. Then he tucked Crozier in. 

Jopson decided he’d prepare a small meal for the Captain, as Mr Diggle was in sickbay. Crozier had not been holding his meals down well as of late and slept far too much. But Dr MacDonald had insisted that Jopson serve Crozier three small meals a day. 

Without tasks ahead he was prone to anxiety, but he would be lying to say that the thought of bonus pay wasn’t one of the things keeping a smile on his face as he took on all these extra duties. 

He was in no rush to once again disturb Crozier’s slumber. 

In the lower deck he came upon Tozer, Gibson, Armitage, Hickey, Manson and Hartnell chattering over rations of extra grog and eating directly from the Goldner's cans. 

While Jopson filled up a large iron pot with water from the pumps in the middle of the deck he could overhear them talking. 

“I always wanted to be a Marine, but I failed the physical.” Armitage said sadly. 

“What for?” Hickey asked sympathetically. 

“I’m deaf in one ear.” answered Armitage. 

“How’d that happen? An accident or were you born with it?” 

“...Born with it.” 

“With a handicap like that you'd be a danger to yourself and your comrades!” Tozer declared alertly. 

“I know... but I’m good with a gun.” said Armitage. 

“An old mate of mine got himself deafened and couldn’t hear orders to take cover. Took a blow to the stomach and was killed instantly! The musket ball left a tiny, cherry sized hole in his front, but blew his back wide open like a geyser.” Tozer held two fists together and fanned the fingers out quickly in enthusiastic display. “Left a hole in his back the size of a dinner plate! You could see everything!” 

“But there are no vital organs below the rib cage.” Hickey informed. “So it won’t have been a clean wound to the stomach if he died instantly.” 

“It might have put shrapnel up into the rest of his insides.” Tozer nodded. 

“But is it not so, that if a man appears to die instantly from a non-vital wound, it’s the shock that killed him?” asked Hartnell. 

“...same thing must have happened to Strong and Evans.” Manson shuddered fearfully. 

“What’s the longest you’ve seen a man live after being shot in the stomach?” Armitage asked. 

“Without medical intervention... I’ve seen a man last for five hours.” said Tozer. 

“I’ve seen a man last nine hours.” Jopson asserted. 

“Hallo there, Jopson, didn’t see you come in!” Hickey called with quite the convincing friendly facade. 

Hartnell smiled genuinely at Jopson but Manson and Armitage gave him steely looks and Gibson didn’t bother to acknowledge him but continued gazing sadly at his sorry excuse for a meal. 

“Oh yeah?” Tozer asked cynically. “And how did a chambermaid like yourself come by such a story?” 

“Do you really want to know?” Jopson asked cryptically. 

“Appearances deceive, Mr Tozer.” Hickey gleaned with a shrewd, rat-faced grin, “Why not sit with us and tell us the story, Mr Jopson?” 

“I’ve been sat down telling stories all day, my throat's gone raw.” Jopson dipped a tin cup in the water pot and sipped from it. 

“Well I’m going to call you a bluffer unless you do tell us the story, Jopson.” Tozer huffed. 

“And me.” said Masnon, who always looked cold and frightened. 

“...I’ll tell you if you give me your extra ration of grog.” said Jopson. 

Everyone laughed. “The boy’s clever, the boy’s good!” Tozer chuckled and held a half-full tin mug of the drink out to Jopson. 

Jopson stood at the end of their table and downed the whole drink, earning more laughter and applause from the others. He put the mug down on the table with a metalic thud and looked earnestly at Tozer. 

Jopson said, “When I was no older than ten, my older brother took me and one of my sisters on a hunting trip. My brother was shot in the belly by the game keeper. We took him home. He didn’t want to see a doctor. Died the next morning, after breakfast. Teacake. From when he was shot to when he finally failed, he sung, very faintly. Run rabbit, run.” 

The others gawped miserably at Jopson. Hartnell offered him his own extra grog ration. 

“Thank you, Mr Hartnell, but that’s not necessary. I’ve only come down to collect water and make use of the stove.” Jopson said warmly. “Other than the dullness my tale seems to have conjured, you're all faring well, I trust?” 

“Doing our best.” said Hartnell with a weak smile. 

“I don’t think anyone is faring well, Mr Jopson." Gibson said sadly. 

“I’m not harping on about it.” Tozer snorted. 

“How did you get so detached from reality Mr Jopson?” tested the snarky caulker’s mate, “You always look to be in a world of your own in which men being lashed is somehow funny and freezing to death is somehow pleasant. And you recount your brother’s demise with such monotony.” 

Jopson raised his eyebrows in surprise at Hickey, then he giggled softly, “I have a bad habit of smirking when the pressure of a situation is too overwhelming. I didn’t mean to come across as so rude.” Jopson excused. 

“How’s the Captain farin' these days?” Hickey pried. 

“He’ll be better soon.” Jopson replied. 

“That’s what you said last week.” Scoffed Hickey. 

Jopson slammed the kitchen door closed. 

He could hear the others whispering through it as he prepared the stove. 

"That Jopson really rubs me the wrong way. He’s a total snitch.” whispered Armitage. 

“Aye, he’ll grass up anyone. He ‘ears everything. There'll be no privacy on board so long as he’s padding around.” said Hickey. 

“...I feel sorry for him sometimes.” 

“What for, Manson?” Hickey snorted. “A dog like that doesn't need friends, just a master to drool over.” 

“What Hickey means to say is Mr Jopson is contented with his work.” Hartnell told Manson. 

“He’s not so friendless as you may think.” Gibson asserted sharply, “He’s on first name terms with some of the Lieutenants and seems to know Mr Blanky very well.” 

“Probably because he services them all like a rent boy.” Hickey sniggered. 

“You’ve got evidence for that do you, Hickey?” Hartnell asked sceptically. 

“I’ve seen how they hang their heads in shame when he is present. Looks like they’re all hiding some dirty secrets.” snorted Hickey. 

“You’re in no place to judge.” Hartnell scoffed. 

Their whispers were drowned out by the boiling of the pots and the kitchen became like a sauna. 

As Jopson made his way back to Crozier’s bed side with a trey heavy with tea, food and a hot water jug, he heard the whistle and shouts above him that alerted to the fact the officers had returned from Erebus. 

He quickened his pace. 

He discovered Crozier in a terrible pandemonium; the Captain had fallen out of his bed after wetting himself, he mustn’t have been able to muster the strength to walk to his seat of ease. 

Crozier was lying in his own turmoil, hiding his face in his hands. 

Jopson set the trey down and without hesitation put the dry sheets over Crozier to keep him warm. Then Jopson took the wet sheets and placed them in a basket to be cleaned at the soonest opportunity. 

“I’m so sorry. This is disgraceful.” Crozier wept. 

“It’s alright, Captain, don’t worry.” Jopson soothed. 

“I heard the whistle; the other officers are back. If they see me like this...” 

“...Then my reputation will be in shambles, sir.” Jopson ended the sentence for him and finished replacing the bedding. 

There was a knock on the great cabin door as Jopson helped Crozier into a clean night shirt. 

“Don’t you dare come in!” Jopson shouted. 

Crozier seemed confused and dizzy as Jopson helped him back into bed. 

“It’s my ship, Jopson!” Shouted Little. 

As Little entered the great cabin, Jopson shut Crozier’s door and stood guard in front of it. 

“What on earth is happening here?” Little asked, it was impossible to ignore the smell. 

“Have you been neglecting your muffler, again?” Jopson asked crossly. 

Little looked bewilderedly at Jopson and ran his fingers over his frosted whiskers. “I...” 

“Wipe your face with a hot towel and have some tea. But don’t you dare set foot in the Captain’s cabin or I’ll get hands on with you in a way you won’t find so pleasant, lieutenant Little!” Jopson snapped. 

Little gulped fearfully. 

Jopson hurried to move the wet bedding into the orlop with utmost discretion. 

When he returned, he was enraged to find Crozier’s cabin door was ajar and all the officers had gathered in the great cabin. 

“Alright, Everyone, out!” Jopson shouted. Everyone stared at him with wide, astonished eyes. “At these hours only Dr Macdonald and myself are permitted to see Captain Crozier! I won’t have you all chattering away in the great cabin and disturbing him, now shoo!” Jopson persisted. 

“Do as he says.” Little ordered firmly. 

Everyone left quietly apart from Little and Blanky. Little didn’t want to leave the great cabin and stood on its periphery with a teacup and saucer rattling in his hands, while Blanky stood half in Captain Crozier’s cabin door trying to tell him a joke. 

“.... and technically speaking my best mate’s ran off with my leg and himself, hehe.” 

Jopson stood next to Blanky and glared at him with folded arms, tapping his foot impatiently. “Mr Blanky, if you please.” 

“Alright, alright, but just give him this for me.” Blanky laughed and handed Jopson a peculiar, black stone. Blanky snorted as he left, “Tommy, you’re a regular mongoose haha.” 

Jopson looked at Lieutenant little with a raised eyebrow and asked, “What’s a mongoose?” 

Little shook his head and shrugged. He gave Jopson a folded-up piece of paper and asked, “Is He well enough to read this report?” 

Jopson skimmed the report and tutted. “Rather distressing.” 

“That a no?” 

“I’m afraid so.” 

“I don’t know what to do.” Little grimaced. “Ice has started growing on the inside of the ship, she’s on the precipice of sinking. I shall have the boiler lit.” 

“But we have no stokers.” 

“We have three men with duty owing who will stoke if I press them.” 

“Edward, look at the thermometers, the temperature within the ship right now is minus five, it’s not dangerous. If you put the boiler on now, you’ll just be wasting coal.” Jopson reasoned softly. 

“Maybe the thermometer's broken.” Little continued to grimace in deep thought. 

“You appear in need of a holiday.” Jopson advised charmingly. “Why not help Lieutenant Irving make Christmas decorations?” 

After getting everyone to leave Jopson quietly returned to Crozier’s bedside and helped him sit up. He put the trey over Crozier’s lap. 

“Thanks' lad... you’re so kind to me.” Crozier murmured sadly. 

Jopson smiled at him warmly and rubbed his shoulder. 

Crozier’s hands twitched and trembled as he picked up the knife and fork and tried with great effort to ferry the pickled cabbage and kidney beans into his mouth. 

Crozier cringed and dropped his knife and fork with a clatter. He whispered curses and held his jaw where the pain of hitting his teeth with the cold silver lingered. 

Jopson picked up his knife and fork and patiently helped him eat. 

“I can do it...” Crozier pleaded weakly after swallowing. 

“I beg your pardon, sir. Let me help you just this once. The shakes are bad, but I can’t give you the drops until you’ve eaten. Doctor’s orders.” 

Jopson gave him some lukewarm water with a small amount of whiskey mixed in with it. He was giving Crozier less and less every day to ween him off it. 

“Only sips, sir.” Jopson reminded him tenderly. 

“What did Thomas give you?” Crozier asked tiredly. 

Jopson looked at the black stone in his palm and showed it to Crozier. It had a spiral pattern and lots of ripples. “He said it’s for you, sir. I don’t know what it is...” 

“Oh... it’s a fossil.” Crozier said softly and smiled weakly. 

Jopson dropped it into Crozier’s open hand and the captain rolled it in his fingers. 

“It looks like a little dragon, all curled up... sorry, sir.” Jopson muttered. 

“It’s an ammonite.” 

“Am-mon-nite?” 

“It’s an extinct sea creature, probably millions of years old.” 

“But the earth’s only...” 

“No one knows how old the earth really is, Jopson.” 

“Oh.” 

“Blanky and I collected a lot of ammonites when we were in Whitby together in 43... perhaps he never took this one out of his pocket.” 

“That sounds like fun. I hope I can do something like that someday, sir.” 

“I’d like to show you...” 

“Hey, Captain?” 

“Um?” 

“What’s a mongoose, sir?” 

“Oh it’s ah... kind of ferret-like thing that lives in Africa... why?” 

“Mr Blanky keeps calling me a Mongoose, sir.” 

“Oh I see.” Crozier laughed and Jopson looked puzzled. “I’m sure he means it as a compliment.” Crozier chuckled. 

“I beg your pardon, sir?” 

“Well... even though they look quite harmless a Mongoose is very protective and brave. They’ve been known to hold their own against lions.”


	15. Glaucus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jopson is invited to celebrate Christmas on Erebus, a pretty slice of life chapter with more dialogue than plot, wanted to have the characters being a bit more relaxed with each other before skipping ahead to when they leave the ships, which is where I plan to start the next chapter.

His island home seated in the turbid North Sea now visited Thomas Jopson in his dreams in the semblance of a vast ship imprisoned in the core of the arctic labyrinth. 

Touched by the warmth of one English summer when he had been granted thirty minutes to roam the gardens of The Brooknell family’s estate. He marvelled yellow butterflies chasing each other in the shade of the sweet-smelling apple trees, and the twittering little hedge sparrows bathing in the water fountain. He sat on a moss-coated stone wall and wondered whether to introduce himself to Maria, the introverted maid who now seemed to relax for the first time as she made use of the garden swing. 

When he passed under the shadow of the grey-green statue of Poseidon riding a horse-drawn chariot in the mansion’s courtyard, summer suddenly became winter. 

The perfectly blue sky had turned to the colour of frozen meat. 

The fountains and streams turned solid in place, the green leaves crumbled into snowflakes and left their branches bare. 

The people vanished and the animals perished; their dark little bodies littering the white ground. 

A gunshot cracked in the winter silence and he looked to where it may have originated. 

He heard a man screaming. 

Thomas ran towards the sound and found a trail of large, blood-red bear prints in the snow. 

He followed the pawprints into the now derelict and frozen mansion. The windows and doors were all broken, the furniture and curtains were shredded. Some rooms seemed more like the ship and less like the manner house. 

On the floor lay a blood-soaked winter great coat, the sort issued to lieutenants. A pickaxe was stuck in the floorboards nearby. 

As the cold felt very real, Thomas followed his instincts to don the coat and take up the pickaxe. 

The prints led upstairs. He stood at the bottom of the flight and listened. Fear was the only thing that ever roused his aggression and he felt it now as he tightened his grip on the axe and ascended the steps cautiously. 

He inched slowly into a room crowded with objects, laid out in neat rows like in his family’s shop window display. Fishing hooks, weights, makeup sets, children’s toys coated in lead paint. It did not immediately occur to him what the items had in common. 

He went to the window and looked out at the small wood on the edge of the property. Among slender, charcoal-coloured tree trunks, he witnessed the Polar Bear-Demon that took Blanky’s leg, hunting a man who was too far away to be recognised. 

Thomas tried shouting to get either the man’s or the monster's attention. He was very startled when his shouting seemed to trigger the noisy movements of the wind-up toys behind him. 

He kicked the toys out of his way and hurried downstairs. 

Over his boot falls he heard Captain Crozier’s echoed shouts for him. 

The way out of the mansion was blocked by an ice wall and he tried to pick his way through it to get to Crozier. 

The pickaxe shattered as if it were glass, but he continued digging with his hands. 

The ice tore the skin from his fingers. 

Jopson woke up with a start. Sat up on the padded bench beneath the windows where he was sleeping. It was pitch black, no moon, no sun, no aroura to light the way. Captain Crozier was still shouting for him. 

He hurried into Crozier’s cabin with a lamp light. It was difficult to see in the dim glow, but Crozier had smashed two glasses, and in breaking one of them had managed to cut his hand open. 

“Captain! What’s happened? You’re bleeding!” 

“Jopson! There are demons in here! Horrible burnt faces and teeth like knives! Get me my gun!” Crozier shouted fearfully in delirium. 

“I’ll go and fetch Dr MacDonald!” 

Crozier gripped Jopson’s nightshirt with his bloodied hand, smearing red over the white fabric. “No! Don’t go! I need you!” He wailed. 

“Thank goodness you’ve only split open two of your fingertips.” said MacDonald, immensely relieved as he finished bandaging the fingers on Crozier’s right hand. “You might have cut your tendons or opened up your wrists with that broken glass, had you been less fortunate, sir.” 

Crozier stared at MacDonald with half lidded eyes, sedated by the micro dose of laudanum which had been administered moments prior. 

Jopson leaned over MacDonald’s shoulder and studied the dressing of the wound carefully. 

“How long will it take to heal?” Jopson asked worriedly. 

“No more than a week I imagine. Under normal circumstances.” 

“Are circumstances normal, Doctor?” 

“Not with most of my other patients as of late.” MacDonald sighed tiredly and pinched the bridge to his nose. “I’ve been seeing slowed healing periods and more infections and illnesses than usual on this voyage. ...And there’s also this delirium.... Since we left Beechey anyone with the slightest illness has been plagued by horrific hallucinations. One is led to wonder how much of that thing was real and how much was our minds playing tricks.” 

“It did an awful lot of damage for a hallucination, sir.” 

“I have no doubt that there was a real beast, but if we’re under some collective hallucinogenic dysphoria our perception of it may have been distorted.” MacDonald pondered seriously. “You seem to be in good health though. How’s your ear?” 

“It’s stopped hurting.” 

“That’s good. I’ve been asked to keep an eye out for bleeding and discolouration of the gums, too, shown any sign of that?” 

“No, sir.” 

“Have you seen anything strange as of late? Visions, I mean.” 

“I’ve started having very vivid dreams... sir.... but I’ve not confused reality with nightmares as the Captain seems to be doing.” 

“Out of curiosity, what have you dreamt about?” 

“Home, mostly. That’s a frightening enough thing to dream about as it is.” Jopson giggled. MacDonald smiled at him. “Urm... time speeding up... I think... it goes from summer to winter in the blink of an eye... birds fall out of the sky, animals and people freeze and turn into white powder.” 

“That sounds frightful.” the Doctor said sympathetically. He put Crozier’s hand down gently and packed his kit away. 

“I did see the thing in my dream this time...” 

“The monster?” 

“Yes... I think it was chasing Captain Crozier... and he was calling for me, both in the dream and in reality. That's what woke me up. It’s the strangest thing, doctor... in my dream my hands were bleeding but when I woke up and finally got to the captain it was his hands that were bleeding.” 

MacDonald stood up, patted Jopson on the shoulder and smiled warmly at him. “You two have a very strong bond.” he said. 

“...I’ll... I’ll make sure not to leave glass or anything dangerous in here in future, sir.” Jopson promised. 

“Good. Now, I'm off to catch forty winks. You should stay here and try to keep him happy until he drifts off again. I know it’s not so fair on you, after all you didn’t sleep at all yesterday, and now...” 

“I’ll be fine. I’ll sleep when he does.” Jopson assured. 

MacDonald left and Jopson sat at Crozier’s bed side and watched him. 

The Captain’s complexion was increasingly sickly and his cold, clammy hands clung to the blankets like the stubborn, rigid claws of a crab. 

“I... feel... like I'm... dyeing.” Crozier choked. 

The youthful, delicate hand of his steward brushed away the damp, greying blond hairs that clung to Crozier’s forehead. “You’re not going to die, Captain. You’ll get through it, sir. You’ll see... you’ll see.” He pearled calmingly. 

“I can’t.... muster any strength... can't even walk to my seat of ease without falling over... this is a miserable existence.” Crozier whimpered and swallowed thickly. 

“If you fall, I'll catch you, sir.” Jopson promised. 

“I’m afraid... I keep seeing demons in the walls... visions of dead sailors in terrible decay... some of them are my friends...” 

“Don’t be scared. You’ll be safe... I swear. If you’ll put your faith in me, sir.” Jopson beckoned tenderly and stroked Crozier’s shoulder through the covers. 

“You have all my faith... you are my liaison... et aide'de'camp...” Crozier murmured softly. 

“I don’t know any French, sir.” Jopson giggled nervously. 

Crozier clamped his eyes shut in attempt to stop tears escaping. 

Jopson watched Crozier’s pained face worriedly. 

“Captain?” 

“Thomas...” 

Jopson’s eyes widened, Crozier had never before called him by his Christian name. 

“Thomas, I’m sorry.” Crozier sobbed quietly. 

“It’s alright.” Jopson cooed and mopped up the tears with a silk kerchief. 

“It’s not... in June... the resignation letter... you saw it... of course you did... I would have left you here, thinking it would keep you safe... that would have been very wrong of me... I’m sorry.” Crozier was pushing himself not to fall asleep. 

“Sir... it’s alright... I understand the need for what you planned, and I would have found a way to follow you anyway. I would have been there for you, and you for me. I would have hunted for you and you could have told me about the stars along the way... but none of it came into fruition. Thus, none of it bares thinking about or apologising for now, does it, sir?” 

“...Will you stay with me tonight?” Crozier pleaded sadly and slowly extended his left hand towards Jopson. 

Jopson held Crozier’s hand against his face, the captain’s cold fingers caressing the warm, lightly stubbled cheek. 

“I've got you, Captain.” Jopson whispered. 

__________________________________________________________________________________ 

Fitzjames shook Jopson gently by the shoulder to wake him up. The stewards back ached from falling asleep in the hard-wooden chair. 

Jopson let out a startled yelp as he fell backwards onto the floor. 

“C-Captain Fitzjames! Sorry, Sir! I did not expect you to appear!” Jopson stuttered. 

Fitzjames held back a laugh and whispered, “I’d like to take over your post for a while if that’s alright?” 

Jopson stood up wearily and patted some dust from his clothing. “Very well, sir, where do you want me?” 

"Ah! You may continue your siesta in the great cabin. I heard about how Francis cut his fingers open when I arrived, it’d be useful if you stayed within ear shot. Just in case the unexpected happens.” 

“Yessir.” Jopson saluted sleepily. 

Fitzjames occupied the chair, Neptune bounded in and pawed his leg for attention. The younger captain happily ruffled the long black fur on the dog’s head and neck. 

“Jopson, I’m holding a play on Erebus tomorrow to provide the men with some entertainment, would you like to join in?” 

“If my Captain needs me, I shall have to remain by his side.” 

“Are you sure? I bet if you asked Dr MacDonald, he would take your place. He doesn't drink keenly and seems less in need of a holiday than you. The play will be an adaptation of the battle for Troy from the Iliad. We’re having Terrors play the Trojans and Erebites play the Greeks. I’m playing Helen, of course. And I think you'd make a good Glaucus. He has hardly any lines and....” 

“Do you ever stop talking?” Crozier rasped tiredly. 

Jopson and Fitzjames looked at Crozier in surprise. 

Fitzjames laughed nervously, “Sorry for disturbing you Francis, I was only...” 

“Tell me, James, who has the displeasure of being landed with the role of Chryseis in your little play?” Crozier asked, laughing under his crackling breath. 

“Your Lieutenant Hodgson took up that role with great enthusiasm.” Fitzjames answered. 

“I would have liked to see Jopson as Chryseis, though I wouldn’t be able to attend anyway.” Crozier mumbled. 

Fitzjames laughed quietly with his hand over his mouth. 

Jopson looked disheartened, “Oh but sir! How could you say such a thing? You know I despised my role as Chryseis in our 1839 rendition of the play!” he exclaimed. 

“It was just funny and rather charming to see you in a dress.” Crozier justified, his bashfulness drowned out by exhaustion, he laughed under his breath. 

“I should have liked to see you captured and ransomed by Greek warriors also, it must have been quite the delectation, Jopson.” Fitzjames smirked and looked at the lad, likely imagining him in the costume. 

Jopson's face flushed pink with embarrassment and he huffed, “Alright, I’m leaving you two to your nonsense. Merry Christmas, sirs.” He moved to stand in the doorway and the dog followed him closely. 

“Jopson, I didn’t mean to upset you, lad! It was only a bit of fun. We always have the younger ones play the women; you know how it is.” Crozier reasoned. 

“Wait a moment, Jopson.” Fitzjames asserted authoritatively. Jopson stopped and turned to look at them drowsily. “You really do seem to have overworked yourself, my friend.” Fitzjames said warmly. “I should like your answer now. Will you or will you not be coming to the party tomorrow?” 

Jopson shook his head and began sadly, “You don’t understand, sir, I must be here, especially with my Captain’s condition worsening, nothing else will do...” 

Crozier spoke over him, “Oh, go ahead and attend, Jopson. It will do you good. A young man can’t be cooped up in here forever. It’s unhealthy.” 

“But I’m honestly not so fond of parties, sir.” Jopson claimed softly. 

“I order you to go. All work and no play make a dull man.” Crozier insisted. 

Jopson fell silent and looked wearily at Crozier. 

“Urm... If your condition shows signs of improvement by tomorrow afternoon, sir, I will go.” Jopson assured with a smile. 

“Settled at last. When you get the chance, I want you to rehearse your lines for Glaucus with Little, he’s playing Hektor.” Fitzjames instructed. 

“Yessir.” 

Jopson hurried into the luxury of his tiny bed and buried himself under the covers. Neptune hopped atop him, near squashing the steward with his weight. Jopson giggled and petted Neptune, not caring how much the Newfoundland licked his face, so long as Neptune did him the favour if keeping him warm. 

He drifted in and out of sleep; noise from the ice, and the laughter and chatter from Crozier’s bed cabin kept him awake. 

He could deduce from what he overheard that Fitzjames had brought some wine to share with Crozier. Although Thomas would have voted against it, Dr MacDonald did say a glass of red wine on Christmas eve would do Captain Crozier no harm. ________________________________________________________________________________ 

Christmas day, Erebus... 

There was an inviting yellow glow pouring from Erebus’s little windows and faint carol singing could be heard from within as the Terror party started quietly up the snow ramp. 

Jopson found his costume for the play quite ridiculous. He was to play a minor character; a captain in the Lycian army, who were allies of Troy, and so in this version of the play he was cast as a friend and consort of prince Hektor, the Trojan general. 

The guise had been thrown together from other spare and broken pieces and in full consisted of a fake beard, a silver painted eye mask, a wooden sword, a blue robe with Greek-style, oceanic patterns on it, and knee-high sandles fashioned from strips of tin. 

Little had remarked he looked very handsome in it, probably to boost his confidence. He delivered his lines shyly and not very dramatically. But he was well spoken, and his audience was too drunk to care. 

Irving was pressed into the role as Paris, which he hated at first, but Fitzjames had him drink two glasses of beer to help bring out the humor in their parody and playing younger brother to Lieutenant Little’s character suited him. 

Le Vesconte and Fitzjames made a half rats comedy out of their roles as Agamemnon and Hellen. It was blatant they’d put the whole show on for their own amusement, despite claims of intentions to simultaneously educate and entertain the crew. 

There were many characters and extras needed, so no sailor was spared. They wore rope wigs and rapped themselves in bedsheets when there was a shortage of costumes. There was a constant rotor between performing and sitting on the floor with the audience while new men from the audience stepped up to read their lines in wooden, tipsy confusion. 

Towards the end of the sacking of Troy, Glaucus escaped death at the hands of the enemy by drinking a magical herbal elixir that turned him into a sea god; bound to rescue what sailors he could from drowning for the rest of time and live an eternity with the guilt of those he could not save. 

As part of the act Jopson had to run into the temple of Poseidon, littered with Terrors playing slaughtered Trojans. He held up the mock elixir and announced his closing lines before drinking it. 

“I hence forth renounce mortality and all stakes upon the earth. Like the generations of leaves, the lives of mortal men. Now the wind scatters the old leaves across the earth, now the living timber bursts with the new buds and spring comes round again. And so with men: as one generation comes to life, another dies away.” 

After the play, he caught up with some old acquaintances as low ranked as himself. Eating and drinking well, placing bets on things he was prepared to lose and pretending to be interested in the Rowlandson illustrations passed around the tables. He shed his fake beard but decided he looked quite dashing in his blue robe and silver mask, he decided he’d keep those on until it was time to go. 

There was a bit of a group song and dance, which he enjoyed, but prancing drunk about the narrow threshold of the lower deck is a sure way to receive bumps and bruises. 

Then it got to that part of a party where one starts wondering around looking into rooms one is not familiar with, looking for a more interesting bottle to smuggle off to some quite corner to lie and drink it in. Jopson found a bottle of coconut rum in the orlop and went to ask one of the clerks or stewards if he could open it. 

When he found Bridgens and asked him about the bottle, Bridgens politely told him he should exchange the bottle with him for a tin cup of water. Jopson accepted the offer happily. 

He was starting to get confused as to whether he was on Terror or Erebus now. The ships looked almost the same. He stubbed his toe on the corner to the hall and then wondered down the end of the ship, where he bumped into Lieutenant Irving. 

“Thomas, do you need water?” Irving asked him worriedly. 

Jopson leaned against the wall dizzily. “No thank you, John. Mr Bridgens already gave me some water.” he slurred his words and smiled sweetly at Irving. 

“Take this stupid thing off.” Irving requested and moved the silver eye mask upwards, into Jopson’s black locks. 

Jopson grinned and batted his eyelashes. “Your performance as Paris was lovely.” he cooed. 

“Well thank you. I liked your performance too.” Irving replied out of a forced sense of politeness, if he were to be frank there was nothing about the play, he particularly liked. 

“You don’t have to say that.” Jopson giggled. 

“Do you want to sit with us?” Irving asked. 

Jopson gawped in bewilderment, “Oh but I couldn’t! I don’t deserve to sit with you, it’s not my place.” 

“You’ve sat with us after meals before, on Terror.” 

“Not at the same table as a captain!” 

“Little asked me to fetch you.” 

“What for? What does he want? Don’t you know what he... John!” Jopson’s confused questioning came to an end when Irving grabbed his wrist and pulled him into the room. 

The other officers were chatting and drinking and not paying them much attention. 

Jopson nearly tripped over as he was dragged over to the table. Irving helped him steady again and held him by the waist. 

Jopson screamed and burst into a fit of laughter. “Don’t touch me there!” 

“I can’t help it that you’re so ticklish!” Irving laughed and began to tickle Jopson more deliberately. 

“Please! Stop it! John!” Jopson panted and giggled. “You’re drunk! You’re making a fool of yourself!” 

“So are you!” 

“But I’m trying to sober up now.” Jopson excused giddily. 

Jopson fell backwards while attempting to escape the relentless tickling, the back of his head hit Little’s chest and as Little was sat down with his chair facing away from the mess table, Jopson quite by accident ended up sat in Little’s lap. 

Irving sat down in the chair next to them and stopped laughing to take another heavy gulp of Alsop's down. 

“You gentlemen are drinking like there’s no tomorrow.” Jopson observed. 

“That’s because there isn’t!” Fitzjames proclaimed and raised his glass. “Christmas marks the dead of winter here. The sun is yet to rise for another month and a half.” 

Little giggled and snaked his arms around Jopson’s waist. 

“Come now, Edward, let me get up!” Jopson wined. 

“Truth or dare, answer right and I’ll let you up.” 

“...truth, then.” 

“What’s the opening line of my favourite book?” 

“...I am the native of a sea-surrounded nook, a cloud-enshadowed land, which, when the surface of the globe, with its shoreless ocean and trackless continents, presents itself to my mind, appears only as an inconsiderable speck in the immense whole; and yet, when balanced in the scale of mental power, far outweighed countries of larger extent and more numerous in population. Now let me up!” 

Jopson struggled and Little released him with ease. 

“I say, Thomas, you’re damned good at remembering things!” Little exclaimed. 

“Only the beginnings of things, Edward. I remember the first things you gentlemen ever said to me, and everything else since then has gone in one ear and out the other.” 

“Lost in oblivion.” Irving remarked. 

“What were the first things we said to you?” Little questioned with a raised eyebrow. 

Jopson gestured to Irving and then to Little, “You called me unpunctual and you said I look like a horse.” 

“I only meant you have the strength and majesty of a horse.” Little elaborated passionately. 

“Here we go again.” Irving sighed with distaste, rolled his eyes and covered his ears. 

Jopson looked with confusion at Irving. 

“Lieutenant Little hasn’t stopped talking about you all evening, Jopson.” Fitzjames informed with a smirk. “Seems he’s taken with you.” 

Jopson smirked at Little. 

“Seems I’m very drunk, Captain Fitzjames.” Little excused, trying to hide his bashfulness behind stoicism. 

“Seems I’d better retreat to my cabin for the night.” Fitzjames declared and stood up. “You’re free to sleep on the great cabin’s carpet if you can’t find beds. Try to keep the noise down, boys.” 

_____________________________________________________________________________ 

Jopson woke up with heavy moonlight shining in his face. He was lying on the warm, carpeted floor of Erebus’s great cabin with coats piled over him and pressed between two warm bodies. 

His back was against Little’s front, Jopson couldn’t turn to look at Little but he recognised the man’s hands and scent. 

Irving was the one sleeping against Jopson’s front, initially with his head against the younger man’s chest. When he woke up, he rolled wearily onto his back and stared at the moonlight coming from the windows. 

Jopson watched the younger Lieutenant curiously; the way he sat up suddenly and the coats fell from his shoulders. Irving stared out of the window with a wide grin. Rubbed his eyes as if he’d seen something unbelievable, and then looked out of the window again. He seemed disappointed. Whatever he saw was gone now. 

"Good Morning, John.” Jopson whispered. 

“Is it morning or evening?” Irving asked quietly in confusion. 

Jopson propped his head up on his fist. “It's moonrise anyway. You look well rested.” 

“It was a good idea for us to share body heat, Thomas, I can’t remember the last time I felt so warm.” 

“Sleep with me again some time then.” Jopson giggled tiredly. 

Irving blushed, “Don’t say it like that!” he pleaded crossly. 

Jopson yawned with his hand over his mouth and lay his head back down. 

Little stirred in his sleep. “This boy’s as hot as a stove.” he muttered faintly. 

Jopson started laughing and trying to roll out of Little’s grip. “Edward, wake up, you stupid man!” he tittered quietly. 

Little tightened his grip and pulled Jopson back into place. “Ten more minutes." Little whispered. 

“Is he hurting you?” Irving asked worriedly, referring to Little’s tightening vice of an arm around Jopson’s torso. 

“He’s squeezing a little bit too tight, but I’ll let him for now. What did you see in the moonlight, John?” 

"I saw the virgin mother in a gown of white flowers, a golden crown on her head. She was teaching her infant child to walk.” Irving described his vision passionately. 

“That’s nice. I wish I had such pretty waking dreams. All I dream about is Captain Crozier shouting at me to fetch drops and draws.” 

“I don’t think that’s true. I think you think about more complicated things.” 

“I think you think we both think.” Jopson jested, drawing a quiet laugh from Irving. 

The small party of Terrors trudged back to their ship through the snow. 

“Why do you suppose Fitzjames didn’t choose a more traditional subject for the Christmas play?” Irving asked disappointedly. “I would have preferred something more appropriate like the Nativity or something biblical.” 

“If not biblical at the very least English.” Hodgson said in agreement. 

“Aye, and a comedy too. The Iliad's a practical gore story.” Blanky snorted disapprovingly. 

Little spoke up, “Fitzjames and Le Vesconte relayed the idea to me before going ahead with it. They reasoned that popularising Greek mythology in a way that entertains the rest of the crew would be an educational experience.” 

“And what did you say?” asked Hodgson. 

“I said, ‘do as you see fit commander’.” Little replied simply and shrugged. 

Jopson tutted, “They’re so idealistic, aren't they? It’s almost a shame. Still, they enjoyed themselves and that’s what matters.” 

“What’s a shame, Jopson? Do you disapprove of attempts to make education more available?” Little questioned. 

“I certainly don’t oppose it, sir, nor am I surprised when it proves to be a waste of time. Despite a low success rate, it is righteous for one to persist towards reform. I do wish I lived in a world where everyone was educated, like the Houyhnhnms in Gulliver's travels.” 

“Growing an ear for politics now are you, Jopson?” Little questioned sceptically. 

“Philosophy, sir, not politics.” Jopson excused. 

“You’ll find the two subjects are rather interlinked.” bade Little. 

“It was Captain Crozier who asked me to read the book to him, sir. Only for entertainment. And if I may say, the both of us would like to keep out of politics.” Jopson explained himself innocently. 

“A man can’t simply agitate and expect to stay out of the matter altogether. If you truly cared about changing things, you’d be the change yourself.” Little patronised. 

“You’re right, sir, I must not truly care.” Jopson passively agreed and nodded. He felt it unwise to try and explain to Little that when he returned to England he would be too busy trying to survive to think about politics and philosophy. They were rather busy with that right now too but there's no police, game keeper or tax man in the arctic. Little's desire to talk about something like this would have seemed odd, if Jopson had not concluded it was coming from a desire to imagine he was in the safety of his own home. 

“Beware you don’t come across as a liar or a coward through your careless talk.” Little advised gravely. 

“I'll do my best.” Jopson beamed. 

“Oh we can’t all be as brave and honest as you, Lieutenant Little.” Blanky remarked sarcastically. 

“I meant only to advise him, Blanky!” Little reasoned in defence. 

“As you’re so passionate about the subject, perhaps you’d like to tell us all why you have done nothing to rectify such issues yourself, hmm?” Blanky tested. 

“I see the matter as idealistic folly. Educating the scum class is like throwing pearls before swine.” Little confessed drolly. 

“Tory bastard!” Blanky laughed. 

“Gentlemen! Politics is forbade in the wardroom for a reason. Let's not let our differences bother us now. Not with death’s army at our port.” Hodgson advised. 

“But we’re not in the wardroom.” said Irving, rather missing the point. 

“If we’re all together it’s the wardroom no matter where we are.” Hodgson informed. 

“Portable wardroom.” said Irving. 

Blanky lost his balance on his wooden leg and stumbled forwards. Jopson moved to steady him and help him walk, “Easy now.” he bade. 

“Thanks' lad. I can’t seem to get this flaming thing to bend half the time.” The Ice Master laughed frustratedly. 

“You’ll have mastered it by next Sunday, sir.” Jopson encouraged. 

“As much as I appreciate your help, I shall never get the hang of it with you coddling me. Why not run ahead and try to cheer up that grumpy oyster before he hurts himself.” Blanky advised Jopson quietly and pointed at Little, who was leading the group. 

Jopson made sure Blanky was fine walking on his own and sped up to walk next to Little. 

“Um... Lieutenant Little, I will return your book at the soonest opportunity, sir.” Jopson assured with a rigid shyness. 

“It was meant as a present.” Little said sharply. 

“But giving someone like me something like that is like throwing pearls before swine, sir.” Jopson explained calmly. 

Blanky chortled at that. 

Little’s mood quietly worsened. 

Hodgson bade lightly, “Let’s not open up this can of warms again, Jopson. There’s a good gentleman.” 

Jopson simply smiled at Hodgson. 

“A can of worms would make good eating right about now.” Blanky grumbled wistfully. 

“That’s vile!” Irving peeped angrily. 

“You’ll have to eat worse if we don’t run into any game come spring.” Blanky warned. 

Hodgson laughed and bent to scoop up some snow in his mittens, “I’ve eaten worse; I was fed roasted tarantulas by natives when I was in Java, it’s not so different in taste and texture from crab. And locusts taste like prawns.” He was patting the snow into a compact ball. 

“You’re going to put me off some of my favourite foods, George!” Irving whined. 

“Imagine a Scotsman with a refined sense of taste! Don't you usually consume Haggis and bits of wild root?” Hodgson teased and threw the snowball at Irving’s back. 

“Oy!” Irving shouted and made a snowball of his own to throw back at Hodgson. 

Hodgson took cover behind Little and of course Irving's snowball hit Little’s back. Hodgson started tittering but Little looked over his shoulder to give Irving a bemused glare. 

“He started it!” Irving accused nervously and pointed at Hodgson. 

“Be quiet. Stop behaving like children and keep your eyes open for bears!” Little ordered firmly. 

When they reached Terror’s snow ramp Little shouted upwards, using his gloved hands to project his voice, “Terror! Men approaching!” 

A whistle sounded from the near deserted and snow coated upper deck. 

______________________________________________________________ 

Jopson rubbed circles into Crozier’s back as the Captain sat on his bunk and spewed his half-digested Christmas dinner back into the empty basin. 

Jopson took the basin from him and emptied it away down the seat of ease. 

Crozier collapsed onto his side, shaking, breathing heavily, clutching his stomach. 

Jopson came back and pulled the covers from their chaotic bundle at the bottom of the bed, neatly over Crozier’s tightly curled up and trembling form. 

When the spasms got more severe Jopson held the captain down to keep him from hurting himself. 

Once it was over, Crozier seemed to drift back into slumber. Jopson sat on the bedside chair and slumped forwards to rest his forehead on the wooden bedframe, gripping it with both hands to keep his balance. 

He waited a while, listening to the pocket watch tick and the captain breathe. 

“...I’m sorry I was away, sir.” He spoke clearly despite his weariness. 

He heard and felt Crozier shift in his bed, but the captain said nothing, only stared drowsily at his exhausted attendee. 

“Even though I was only away for twenty-four hours... I missed your company greatly.” Jopson confessed sadly. 

He hadn’t expected to feel Captain Crozier’s hand running back through his hair. He stayed still and allowed Crozier to stroke him gently a few times before lifting his head up to look at Crozier. 

“...It’s not right.” 

“I know, sir.” 

“No... I mean... it doesn't look right when you cry. You’re usually so happy.” Crozier muttered sympathetically. With his thumb he caught one of the tears falling down the steward's cheek. 

Jopson pulled away and looked at the door. “Sorry, sir.” he whispered. 

Crozier swallowed thickly in his dry throat. “...What is it?” 

“Nothing, sir. Just being a fool.” 

“It's very wet on your cheeks to be nothing, lad.” 

Jopson’s reddened eyes flitted from the door to Crozier’s face, then lingered shyly on his own boots. He was silent for a while. He willed the tears away. 

“Don’t get mysterious, Jopson.” 

“...I’m sorry you had to see me like this, sir, but I couldn’t be kept from you any longer. I need to help you. What do you need?” 

“I see... you forget about your own problems when I give you mine.” 

Jopson bit his lip worriedly and looked at Crozier’s face. The Captain was watching him thoughtfully, though very hazily, through pained, barely open eyes. 

“I want to be of service to you, sir.” It was almost a plea. 

Crozier lingered a while on his servants large, crystal clear orbs. 

“Then sit there and listen to me ramble on. While I have enough energy to do so.” Crozier requested. 

A grateful smile lit up Jopson’s face, “I’d like that very much, sir.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Letting a few tears slip can seem a little out of character for Jopson, he's good at hiding his emotions, but everyone gets a little upset from time to time and the point in the last scene was to show how by spending so much time with Crozier Jopson can't really hide things from him anymore and constantly keep up his happy worker facade.  
> It's emphasized by the slowly developing conflict with Little, that Jopson is getting increasingly bothered by his unchangeable position in the world, outwardly he accepts it but I think there's a deeply buried longing to excel, which draws him to Crozier and also drives him to be a hard worker.  
> Doing sort of pride and prejudice vibes on Little and Jopson right now. The show provides little clues that they had some sort of off screen friendship/relationship which turned bitter shortly after Jopson was promoted to Lieutenant.


	16. The Blind March out of Heaven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The crew begin their journey across King William Island. Jopson finds out a dark secret about Lieutenant Little's past. Captain Crozier fears mutiny.

First sunrise comes on February the eighth. 

It shines like a hole in the universe for thirty-four minutes before sinking back into blue twilight. 

Everyone pauses to squint at it, they feel like pit ponies being led out of the mineshaft for the first time in years. 

The cobalt sky was crisscrossed with columns of personal smoke. 

Fitzjames won’t heed Crozier’s tender advice to rest; he grunts and pulls aggressively away from his First's embrace, to kneel in the line of blackened cadavers and tie red ribbons around the arms of the men who can be named. 

It is hard to distinguish features on a burnt face. 

By six o'clock the void beyond the frozen timbers is pitch black, moonless, and hostile with a thunderous hailstorm. 

Why does Terror have to feel so damned comfortable now? 

Jopson stands half in the Captain’s door and finds Crozier sat at his tiny writing desk, blowing the ink dry in his latest logbook entry. He has pulled threw his Alcohol withdrawal and despite his quietness demonstrates a keen sobriety in his manner. 

“The Lieutenants are waiting for you to join them for dinner, sir.” 

“Come in, come in.” Crozier requested jovially. 

Jopson stepped in and pulled the door to. 

Crozier smiled and nodded at him. “Jopson, you demonstrated brave, officerly conduct last night by ensuring that the other men escaped the carnival fire before yourself. I know of many officers who do not have the nerve to do what you did. I’m proud of you.” 

Jopson grinned bashfully and looked down, trying to hide the increased rosiness in his cheeks, “I was only copying you, sir.” he humbly confessed. 

“I shall have you commended before the rest of command. You ought to be recognized for your heroism. When we return home, I shall campaign for your pay to be increased.” 

“But sir, would that not be a pointless delay?” 

“Of course not, it’s a deadly serious matter of discipline that moral acts must be rewarded, and immoral acts must be condemned.” 

“Yessir.” 

“However, if it is your request to remain invisible, I shall grant you it.” 

“Invisible and at your side, sir. Think of me as an extra pair of hands.” Jopson requested and smiled. 

Crozier laughed lightly and turned his attention to unfolding and reading his charts. He smoothed the creased map down over his desk and moved the magnifying glass over it. 

“Have you studied stars with a telescope before, Jopson?” 

“No, sir.” 

“Might you know how to operate one?” 

“No, sir.” 

Crozier left his desk and came to stand in front of Jopson. The steward picked up Crozier’s waistcoat and prepared to help him into it. “Would you like me to show you?” Crozier asked him warmly. 

Jopson’s face lit up with a grateful and eager glow, “Oh would you sir? Are you certain I shan’t do any damage to it if I try? It’s a terribly expensive and delicate contraption, sir.” 

Crozier patted Jopson on the shoulder and laughed lightly. “I look forward to it.” 

The Captain and his Lieutenants eat together while Jopson watches over them. 

The officers are slow and quiet. They even chew slowly as if they’re being cautious of scurvy in their gums. 

The subordinate officers look mournful and exhausted, they eye each other in search of conversation but for long minutes there is none to be had. 

A loud bang from the ice hassling Terror makes the Lieutenants flinch, Little especially paled, and listened cautiously, expecting to hear screams or gunfire. 

Nothing. 

In the absence of the ship’s cook Jopson had made their drab meal himself out of pickled leftovers. He found it amusing how the officers never seemed to suspect where the food came from so long as it appeared on a neatly laid table. 

Irving spoke first and quite timidly, “Urm... congratulations on your recovery, sir.” 

Crozier plucked up a smile despite the complications in his thoughtful eyes, “Thank you, John.” he said in a warm and fatherly way. 

The other Lieutenants repeated Irving's words wearily. 

“Thank you, gentlemen.” said Crozier. 

Silence for a moment... 

“Might I ask when you intend for us to depart from the ships, sir?” Hodgson asked. 

“By the middle of the month we shall have roughly six hours of daylight per day... but I shall have to hold a larger meeting with the Erebite officers to discuss a more precise date, once poor Captain Fitzjames is well rested. He’s been through a lot.” Crozier said thoughtfully and tapped his fingers on the table. 

“It’ll be a shame to leave, sir. Both ships are feats of engineering that would make Isambard Brunel blush.” asserted Lieutenant Little. 

“It can’t be helped.” Crozier confessed. 

“Eight hundred miles... that’s like walking from Orkney to Cornwall.” Hodgson dreaded and dabbed his mouth with his napkin. 

“Do-able.” said Irving. 

“It would be... but in this place it’s more than just the distance that needs conquering.” Crozier warned them. They looked at him with great concern. “We have restricted means to carry the necessary food and water. Cold burns away fat and lowers immunity. A man trekking across the arctic ought to eat five times as much as a man trekking across Britain, but we are to be on half rations. There’s disease lingering in the men too, and we have no doctors. So that is the situation, gentlemen. Plain and simple.” 

The Lieutenants lowered their heads gloomily. 

Little rubbed his eyes in tired frustration. 

Irving rose his head again and vowed, “We’ll just have to make the best of it, sir.” 

Crozier widened his eyes at him, “Make the best of it? Will you? Will all of you make the best of it?” Crozier questioned and looked everyone in the eye in turn including Thomas. He raised his voice, “All I can promise you boys is pain and hardship. But if you’re willing to make the best of it and make sacrifices, I can assure you our chances of survival are fair.” 

Little gave him a serious look and nodded his head, “Aye sir.” he answered. 

“Aye sir!” Irving said more energetically. 

“Aye sir.” Hodgson muttered. 

“Good.” Crozier affirmed. 

Crozier glanced at Jopson, it was a brief, involuntary glance, but he couldn’t help wanting to see his reaction. 

It surprised Jopson; that warm, trusting smile caused butterflies in his stomach. Crozier’s gaze was far more piercing than it had been before the days of alcohol recovery. 

Jopson was sure he was not meant to speak, his lips twitched into a smile and he nodded approvingly at his Captain. 

Both Jopson and Crozier looked downwards sheepishly. 

__________________________________________________________________________________ 

Jopson came down Terror’s snow ramp for the last time with a small knapsack containing his personals: Two books, soap, comb, a small tin box filled with scraps of paper, and a spare change of clothes. There’s more paper folded up in the pockets of his thick black trench coat. As well as a rusted, rundown pocket watch and a little ivory handled knife gifted to him by his friend Mr A. Wakes. 

Irving was supervising the distribution of men between the boat sleds, so Jopson met him at the bottom of the ramp. 

“The last man, again.” Irving commented. 

“Which boat?” 

Irving pointed to the one laying furthest south. “That’s the Captain’s sled.” 

“Then I shall take that one.” Jopson mimicked the pointing and took a step towards the boat. 

Irving’s hand came down on his shoulder with a firm grip to keep him in place. He gave the taller man a quizzical look. 

With shifting eyes, Irving shuffled closer to Jopson and addressed him in quiet concern, “Is captain Crozier the sort of man who’ll keep stewards.... even when we’re all out there struggling and starving like Mr Blanky warned?” 

“He’ll keep me.” Jopson said happily. 

Irving let Jopson slip away from his hand but followed the steward to the boat with his hands held together behind his back. 

“I dare say it wouldn’t be very Christian to maintain our officer’s privileges when things get desperate.” Irving muttered. 

Little was settling his things in his boat sled and he glared when he observed Jopson and Irving approaching. 

“Really? Which part of the bible talks about how her majesty's officers should behave in the arctic?” Jopson humoured. 

Irving chuckled lightly and hummed, “The book says, when you give a feast, invite the poor, the crippled, the lame, the blind, and you will be blessed, because they cannot repay you. For you will be repaid at the resurrection of the just: All men are equal in the eyes of god. Why should we officers keep our wolf blankets and whatever salmon is caught when the crew are no less human than we are?” 

Little disciplined Irving in a hushed manner so the other sailors would not overhear, “Mr Irving! This is a military unit, not a bible study or a holiday camp! You know damn well why the life of a naval officer outweighs the life of a common sailor! If I find out one man has overheard such blithering, I’ll have you kiss the gunner's daughter!” 

Irving’s body stiffened, “Sorry, sir.” he gulped. 

“Are we taking a cannon with us, Edward?” Jopson enquired calmly. 

“Only call me by my Christian name in private.” Little growled. 

“EDWARD!” Jopson shouted in false outrage. The crew who heard all looked in their direction. 

“Mr Jopson, settle your personals and stand over there until your master comes down that snow ramp.” Little ordered coldly, pointing at a spot three meters from the boat. 

Jopson kept his smiling facade as he took a few slow steps backwards with his hands held behind his back. He studied both Lieutenants for a moment, and then looked at HMS Terror patiently. 

_________________________________________________________________________________ 

After scrambling over frozen ocean waves as tall as cathedrals and spending a freezing, sleepless night in the pack, the crew reached their first camp on King Wiliam island. 

Not having ice under their boots anymore conjured a weakly flickering buzz of relief in everyone. 

While it was still day bright, Jopson took two empty buckets back to the pressure ridge where the frozen ocean met the land. He had Neptune accompany him. 

The dull, flat pebble-scape stretched out for at least a mile between the camp and the ridge, which poked out between the bruised land and sunny sky, looking like a heap of all the worlds glass smashed together, with shades of green, blue and turquoise in the places it didn’t catch snow. 

Jopson used his little ivory handled knife to cut chunks of ice out of the wall and gathered them in the metal pails. 

Sometimes he snapped off shards as long as his arm and threw them as far as he could across the rocky landscape. Neptune ran to fetch them with an excited bark or two. 

Jopson filled the buckets to the brim with ice. Squatted down between them and called Neptune over. 

Neptune nuzzled and licked Jopson, the steward petted him and gave him a bit of biscuit in return. “Good boy. Not a care more in a place like this than you would have anywhere else. You’ve an admirable philosophy.” Jopson tapped one of the buckets a few times and Neptune clamped his jaws around the handle and picked it up. “Good dog.” Jopson cooed. 

Jopson picked up the other bucket himself and they walked back to the camp. 

“You’re strong, too.” Jopson said to the dog. “I always disliked how the word ‘dog’ was used as an insult. I’m on your side.” he giggled. 

It took about fifteen minutes to march back to the camp. 

He watched the shredded white ensign fluttering in the savage wind. The rope lashed against the flagpole, creating a persistent drumming that could be heard from far away. 

As annoying as it could get, Jopson had to remind himself that if the camp turned silent it would mean it were dead. 

He politely asked Mr Hoar to put Neptune away, then he carried both buckets to the stove to be melted into drinking water. 

Now the monotonous whistling wind and flagpole drum was accompanied by Neptune’s bark. 

His tent was empty when he returned. He warmed his hands over a candle while reading his astronomy book. 

He overheard Hodgson and Irving outside the tent. Looked up from the book in his lap to watch their silhouettes on the canvas. 

“Good day, John.” Hodgson addressed with a tip of his cap. 

“What’s happened to your face, George?” 

“It may be a sign of scurvy, but don’t be concerned, I don’t feel sick.” Hodgson answered sentimentally and felt the stinging patch of red on his skin with his fingertips. “With old scars come memories.” 

“How did you get it?” 

“No romantic story behind this one I'm afraid. I can only presume I was disciplined with one too many blows to the face as a child. Have you found any sores or re-opening scars yet?” 

“No. I don’t have any scars.” 

“Lucky. Edward looks strong but he’s been in a foul mood as of late.” 

“Isn’t he always miserable?” 

“He can’t lie on his back anymore.” 

“Why?” 

“He was lashed, years ago.” Hodgson informed secretively. 

“What for?” Irving asked with increasing worry. 

“He won’t tell me.” Hodgson shrugged. 

Jopson put his book under his pillow and left the tent to make a quick search for one of the ship’s cooks. 

“Pardon me, Mr Diggle, may I trouble you for some help in setting up the small stove so we can get these men some tea?” asked Jopson. 

Jopson walked across camp to where Little was stood guard. 

“I beg your pardon, Lieutenant Little.” Jopson called softly. 

Little flinched as if he’d been away in a daydream and suddenly struck by reality. He turned around and looked nervously at Jopson. 

“Thomas?” he gasped. 

“Here.” Jopson gave him a hot cup of tea and returned his hands to his coat pockets. 

“...Thank you.” 

“You should pace when you’re on watch if you wish to keep your toes, sir.” 

“I’m very tired.” croaked Little. 

“Bad back?” 

“You could say that.” 

“You appear to trust yourself with a gun now.” Jopson pointed out, as Little had a rifle slung over his back. Little shrugged. “I must apologise, but I do believe I have left your pistol on Terror.” 

“It’s alright.” Little muttered softly. “I’ll stick with my rifle.” 

“Thank you, sir.” Jopson took a step back. 

“For what?” 

“For your forgiveness, sir.” He took another step back, but Little closed the distance and kept his attention with a concerned stare. 

“Thomas, does your right leg hurt you?” Little queried. 

Jopson shook his head. 

Little’s eyes turned cold. “You’re a bad liar, Thomas.” 

“Oh, there’s no fooling you, sir.” 

“You still have my pistol and the scar on your right leg is going to open up again, if it hasn’t already. You’d be a noble man and I’d apologise for my comments about your class if you weren’t such a liar.” 

Jopson looked at the ground and waited quietly, thinking. “... false.” 

“False?” 

“My sins go far beyond mere lies. I’ve been too open with you. Unprofessional. If you knew any more about my personal life, you'd strangle me.” Jopson fidgeted uncomfortably, swallowed and gave Little a nervous smile. 

“No, I wouldn’t lay a finger on you, I don’t dislike you, I don’t want us to fall into contempt. You can keep my pistol and hide your wounds from me. I want you to. I have no use for these things. All I ask is that you do not lie to me anymore.” Little stammered sorrowfully. 

“...I have to lie to survive, Edward.” Jopson confessed. “We’ve been made to live and work together because it’s our job. To act like civilised gentlemen. If we were animals, you'd be my natural predator." 

“But we’re not animals. I’ve been given the opportunity to see you as a brother. There is no secret you could reveal to me that would make us enemies, not after everything we’ve been through.” Little insisted. 

Jopson smiled and shook his head. “I would love to outrage you with my secrets, Edward, but you’re forgetting something crucial.” Jopson paused to look over the landscape. “In this place, men are challenged either to love or to hate each other. If we do not do what we can to keep each other endeared and warm, we’ll eat each other.” 

Little gulped fearfully. “Thomas... I was lashed for... when I was eighteen.” 

“For what?” 

“What do you think?” 

“...how badly?” 

“Only ten lashes. But the wounds are reopening. I need the help of someone I trust to keep the wounds clean and free of infection. I don’t want anyone else to know.” Little whispered. 

Jopson nodded sympathetically at him. 

__________________________________________________________________________________ 

Night fell at half past six. As Crozier predicted, a waxing gibbous moon shone in the clear sky and lit up the landscape, so the men guarding camp could see far and wide. 

After watching over the dinner Jopson followed Captain Crozier into his tent and Crozier taught him how to use the telescope. 

He had Jopson sit in the tent under lamp light with the contraption pointing out of the window flap, and he told the lad to write a list of all the stars he recognised. 

Then Fitzjames stuck his head into the tent and called Crozier forth by his first name. 

Crozier squeezed Jopson’s shoulder before leaving him alone in the tent. 

“Goodness, are you planning on letting everyone use your precious telescope, Francis?” Fitzjames questioned teasingly. 

“Hush, James, It’s only for him. Why do you think I'm having him study in here rather than out in the open?” Crozier whispered as he followed Fitzjames out. 

Crozier returned about half an hour later. 

"How are you managing, Jopson?” He asked while shedding his welsh wig and cold weather slops. 

“Well, sir.” Jopson replied distantly while readjusting the telescope. He was too consumed in his task to take his eye away from the lens and look at Crozier. 

“What are you looking at?” 

“Orion, sir.” 

“Can you name the stars that make up Orion’s head and shoulders?” 

“...Betelgeuse... Meissa and ...Bellatrix, sir.” 

“The Pyramids of Giza might have been built in conjunction with them.” Crozier informed. 

“I’m aware, sir. Somebody annotated the book on Ancient Astronomy in the Erebus’s library, saying the Egyptians thought their gods came from Bellatrix.” 

“My annotation.” Crozier murmured. 

Jopson eyed him in astonishment, “What?” 

“That was my annotation. Many of the books on astronomy on Erebus and Terror were donated by me. I wrote my name on the inside cover and left annotations to help myself make connections between subjects.” 

“How Beautiful.” Jopson awed. 

Crozier rolled his eyes and grumbled, “Fat lot of good it will do you now.” 

“The learning was worth the delight, sir.” 

“I’ve led you into hell.” 

“Captain... you have led me to where I had no sight. Thanks to you I have escaped the sorrow and restraint of ignorance.” Jopson gushed. 

Crozier had dressed down to his shirt and vest now. He unthreaded his pocket watch from his shirt and put it on the small desk that Jopson was working at. He leant over the desk with both hands flat on its surface and examined Jopson’s notes. 

The young steward looked up at him curiously. 

“Do you know how to match these constellations up with navigational charts?” Crozier asked. 

“I’m no William Bligh, sir.” Jopson gasped. 

“You’re right, too much too soon. You’ve done well tonight; you should take a break.” 

Jopson started tidying the tent up, like how he used to tidy the great cabin and captain’s quarters on terror. Quietly and efficiently. Crozier watched him. 

“Jopson... do you remember how I told you about my encounter with the surviving mutineers of the Bounty?” Crozier blurted. “The admiralty had us hushed up about the horrors we encountered there... because we were not to believe that Englishmen could act like animals.” 

“But the world already knew that those men were all cutthroat blaggards anyway, sir, why should it have mattered?” 

“The details were concerning. Infighting, rape, cannibalism... At the rate things are going, I fear I may soon have a mutiny of my own to contend with. If the officers are killed or banished the rest of the crew will turn into beasts. They will be things, not men.” 

Jopson stared silently at Crozier, who now sat in his chair with his hand over his forehead. 

“The majority of the men are still very much behind you, sir. If there is to be a mutiny, I’m certain it will be small and easily quelled. And with you to lead us on we will prevail.” Jopson assured. 

Crozier heaved a heavy sigh and looked seriously at the lad. “Thomas... I trust everything we discuss and do together is confidential, as always.” 

“Of course, sir.” Jopson had finished tidying. He stepped towards the tent exit but paused. “Urm... do fetch me to help you to bed.” He pleaded. 

“Thank you for the offer, Thomas, but it won’t be necessary.” Crozier replied warmly. 

Jopson wanted to make a gentle protest but stayed quiet and looked at Crozier with puppy-dog eyes. 

“You could kill a man with those eyes, lad.” Crozier chuckled. 

Jopson blinked in confusion. “Sir?” 

“Have you ever gotten a man hanged by looking at him like that?” 

“I’ve told you before, no, sir.” Jopson giggled. 

_________________________________________________________________________________ 

Jopson knelt on the bed behind Little, who sat on the edge of the bunk with his shirt off. Despite the cold and the sting of the damp flannel and salt he remained stoically silent and still. 

The manservant ran his fingertips gently along the broad, muscular shoulders wrapped in warm, fair, lightly freckled skin, broken by a crisscrossing of shallow, red slashes. 

“Thank you.” Little whispered. They were a lone in the dimly lit tent but were trying to stay as quiet as possible. 

Jopson ghosted his nails gently along the uninjured patches of Little’s back, shoulders and neck. 

“That feels nice, Thomas.” Little whispered. 

Neptune began barking loudly. 

“Sounds like Neptune’s seen a bear.” Jopson muttered and pulled his hands away. 

They were both startled by Morfin’s pained screams from outside and hurried to get dressed. 

In the middle of camp, Jopson stood next to Irving and Hartnell in the circle of spectators. 

The terrified John Morfin was begging to be shot. 

“My head! Cut it off! Put it with the others!” Morfin cried. 

Captain Crozier’s face was shadowed as he tried to calm Morfin down. 

Morfin leapt at Private Haeley and snatched up his rifle, then pointed it at Captain Crozier. Everyone else who had guns at once raised them in Morfin’s direction. 

Jopson took an instinctive step forward. He was sympathetic to Morfin, but he felt a primary objective to protect Crozier. 

Even though he was unarmed, Jopson was prepared to Jump in front of Crozier to spare his Captain. 

“No one fire! No one fire!” Crozier shouted and walked around the inside of the circle slowly, gesturing for everyone to lower their guns. “Mr. Morfin is in great pain. He'd like us to end it for him. We’ll not. Weapons down... Down.” Crozier persisted. 

Goodsir was stood closest to Morfin, also trying to calm and comfort him. “I have... options, Morfin. Things to try. We discussed this. I have... wine of coca, for instance. That will certainly be a tonic for you now we're stopped and camped.” Goodsir pleaded. 

“John. John. If Dr. Goodsir thinks that wine of coca will help... it's worth trying, isn't it? You'll never get yourself back to Gainsborough if you don't try everything. Gainsborough, yes? Where your people are.” Crozier encouraged sympathetically. 

Fitzjames staggered out of his tent and stood next to Crozier. He looked exhausted and thin. Blood on his lips. But his hair was still long and thick, and his voice yet carried power. He had a pistol in his hand. 

“Seaman Morfin, lower your weapon. That's an order.” Fitzjames bellowed. 

Morfin stopped fidgeting with his gun turned towards Fitzjames. He shivered and wept. It looked as if he may have been about to lower the gun, when the barrel swung down, and the charges flashed as they burst. 

One of the ballbarings took out a lamp in Frizjames’s left hand and the younger Captain leapt back with a start, almost losing his balance. 

The charges had exploded at the back of the barrel and would have done more harm to Morfin than to Fitzjames, but simultaneous to the malfunction of Morfin’s rifle Sergeant Tozer took a shot from his perch atop the dining table and split Morfin’s head in half, putting him out of his misery. 

Goodsir stared in Horror at the gored body. 

Crozier stared at Tozer, holding him with a grave gaze. Crozier glanced at Fitzjames and then Tozer again. 

“You're clear, Sergeant.” said Crozier. 

Tozer laxed and hopped down from the table. 

Goodsir collapsed onto his knees and wept over Morfin’s corpse. 

Jopson and Hartnell approached cautiously. 

Hartnell put his arm over Goodsir and encouraged him to stand with a calm, sympathetic utterance. 

Jopson stood over Morfin’s corpse, staring in morbid fascination at the half-demolished head. 

Jopson saw that there was a thin spray of blood and something greyish on his own boots. 

“Carry Mr. Morfin to the stores tent.” Crozier ordered exhaustedly. “Bury him in the morning. Lieutenant Hodgson, will you oversee it, please?” 

Crozier slowly retreated to his tent while saying, “Go back to your tents, men. Try to get some sleep.” 

Everyone left slowly. Apart from Hodgson, Hartnell and Jopson, who were left gawping at Morfin’s remains. 

“...go on then. Get it over with.” Hodgson muttered irksomely. 

Hartnell and Jopson exchanged a look. 

Jopson quietly lowered and gripped both of Morfin’s still warm hands and pulled them above the dead man’s open head. 

“...I’ll carry this end then.” Hartnell said nervously as he moved to grip Morfin’s booted ankles. 

They pealed the body from the stones and carried it to the stores tent. 

Hodgson followed them meekly. 

Where Jopson went quiet when uncomfortable, Hartnell preferred to speak. 

“Here’s to hoping we don’t end up like this... what do you think he was sick with? Scurvy? It looked a lot worse than just that.” Hartnell stammered. 

No one answered. 

They left the tent. Jopson wiped his hands with his kerchief, even though there didn’t appear to be anything on them, Hartnell thought this an odd quirk and raised an eyebrow at him. 

Hodgson turned quietly back towards his tent. 

“Good Night, Lieutenant Hodgson.” Jopson and Hartnell both called out in unison. 

Hodgson didn’t bother to look at them. 

“He’s lost his manners.” Hartnell whispered. 

Jopson patted Hartnell on the shoulder and Hartnell turned to look at him. 

“That man is far too sentimental.” Jopson remarked quietly. 

“What do you think Mr Morfin meant when he said, ‘Put my head with the others?’” Hartnell picked anxiously. 

“How should I know?” Jopson shrugged. 

They started back to their tent. 

“Oh, come on, don’t be so mysterious, Jopson, you hear everything, you must know.” Hartnell pleaded playfully like a younger brother pestering for rumours. 

“He’d gone quite mad by my estimations, Tom.” Jopson answered and then yawned. 

They got into their shelter. Four beds to a tent. Manson was fast asleep on one side of the tent, on the opposite side Irving was sat up in his bed, reading his little bible under a candlelight. 

“Alright then.” Hartnell declared. They sat facing each other, cross-legged in the middle of the tent. Jopson’s back to Irving and Hartnell's back to Manson. They took their coats off and pulled blankets over their shoulders. Hartnell pulled a silver coin from his coat. “Heads says there’s a secret, tails says he was just babbling nonsense.” 

“As morbid as your proposal is, I’ve never been one to pass up the opportunity to play.” Jopson said with a smile. 

Hartnell flipped the coin and caught it against the back of his hand. “...Tails.” sighed Hartnell. 

“Satisfied? If only dogs could play a coin toss, I could stop Neptune always sniffing around in places he shouldn’t.” Jopson chuckled. 

“Let’s have another one.” Hartnell requested. 

“There’ll be no gambling in my tent! Get to bed!” Irving snapped at them. 

“Sir!” Hartnell uttered and looked disappointed. 

Jopson started laughing and lay back in his blankets with a thud. He smiled up at Irving’s angry, red face. 

Manson’s snoring grew louder. 

Hartnell started his shuffling to get to sleep. 

Jopson also started undressing himself under the covers while lying down and looking at Irving. “When are you going to sleep?” Jopson asked him in a whisper. 

“Now.” Irving whispered back. He put down his book and blew out his candle. 

... 

“John, I can’t sleep. You’re cold, aren’t you?” 

“I’m not coming over there, I’ll put up with it.” Irving persisted. 

Jopson shuffled closer to Irving and rested his head against his chest. “Is this okay?” 

Irving stayed still and silent for a moment. 

Then Jopson felt Irving pat his head softly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this chapter after watching The Bounty, 1984 with Antony Hopkins, who in my opinion plays a similar character to Captain Crozier. It's quickly become one of my favourite films and I would recommend it to any fan of The Terror.


	17. The Hollow-cast Lead Miniature

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shortly after Jopson is promoted Lieutenant the remains of Neptune are found, Irving is murdered and Hickey's mutiny is sprung. He's got his work cut out for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter features embellishments to scenes in episode 8, which is the most Jopson-centric episode. I wanted to play with a few ideas like what if Jopson found Neptune's remains? I also did a take on the book plot line that Irving has a illegitimate kid and due to his growing guilt of being a bad father he carries a lead hollow-cast miniature of a toddler in his pocket. This is in in reference to Crozier's line, "To ask these men to see these bits of who they are as one more threat to them... No. Let them get some miles behind them before we ask them to do that."  
> Jops seems the sort to pack light but become burdened by the things by which he remembers others.

“My apologies, sir.” Jopson uttered softly and stepped back out of Crozier’s tent.

“It's all right, Jopson.” Crozier called.

Jopson fidgeted, half in the tent entrance, with his hands together and his cap under his arm.

“Thank you, Mr. Hartnell. We'll speak again.” Crozier assured.

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.” Hartnell beamed gratefully as he left the tent. He exchanged a polite nod with Jopson.

The steward watched sadly as Crozier continued to shave himself while looking into his tiny mirror.

“You should have fetched me when you woke to dress, sir.” Jopson pressed nervously.

“...I couldn't sleep.” Crozier excused tiredly.

Jopson approached him timidly. “You should have fetched me for that, too. I have the drops Dr. MacDonald mixed for you last summer.”

Crozier raised his eyebrows at Jopson and then focused on continuing to shave below his chin.

“And how does it feel, not being fetched for drops or drawers?”

“Miserable, sir. That is my job you are shaving away.” he ushered, looking downright disregarded.

Crozier glanced at Jopson and repressed a chuckle.

Jopson cleared his throat and informed with great concern, “...You should also know that Mr. Hoar reports that Neptune is missing again.” Jopson sighed and tilted his head from side to side as he spoke. “He says he thinks he may have left the gate unlocked.”

Crozier rolled his eyes and gave a disappointed grunt while rinsing his shaving knife. “.... Oh well, he'll come back when he's hungry.”

“Sir.” Jopson bowed his head and put his cap on, then turned to leave. But Crozier started talking again, so he took his cap off and stood to attention.

“I need to hold a command meeting this morning for Captain Fitzjames and the lieutenants. I'll let you gather them.”

“Oh, thank you very much, sir.” Jopson accepted eagerly and put his cap back on.

Jopson finds Little on the outskirts of camp.

“Good day, Lieutenant Little.” Jopson called and tipped his cap.

“Are you doing your best impression of Lieutenant Hodgson?” Little questioned languidly, with a quirked eyebrow.

“I’ve been ordered to gather Captain Fitzjames and the Lieutenants, sir. Where is Lieutenant Hodgson by the way?”

“You’ve just missed him. He’s gone to supervise the burial of Mr Morfin, he’s taken some of the seamen with him. Hartnell and Manson had duty owing, I think he took them.”

“Might I ask if you’re on watch, sir?”

“No... No, I’m just having a walk around the perimeter for my nerves.” Little reasoned distantly. “Irving is officer of the watch presently.”

“None of us should wonder alone.”

“I always take a good friend with me.” Little assured and gestured to his rifle.

Jopson smiled sweetly at him.

Little looked Jopson over studiously. Somehow the lad seemed taller.

“...Where did you get a seaman’s hat?” Little questioned, narrowing his eyes.

“Urm, well, Mr Morfin had no further use for it.” Jopson confessed shyly.

“For god’s sakes, Thomas!” Little sighed and shook his head disapprovingly. “You’re no better than a Belgian gypsy. Shouldn’t a dead man’s possessions belong to his family?”

“Didn’t you know? Mr Morfin had no family. He was a homeless man. He was Pressganged into the Navy but had no particular qualms about it.”

Little widened his eyes in surprise. “Is that so?”

“If one of his relatives does make themselves known I shall gladly return the old hat.” Jopson assured.

“Who was his closest friend?”

“When Hornby died, I gave his tobacco to Morfin. When Morfin died I gave his tobacco to Collins.”

“And has Mr Collins seen you in Mr Morfin’s hat?”

“Yes and he's said nothing of it. You’re the only person who’s looked twice at it.” Jopson took the cap off and held it nervously in his hands.

“I don’t disapprove so much, love. You can put it back on.” Little sighed.

Jopson beamed and put the cap back on.

“You look good.” Little complimented.

“Thank you.”

_________________________________________________________________________________

(After the beautiful, adorable scene where Jopson is promoted to 3rd Lieutenant.)

Irving took Jopson back to the armoury and fetched him a rifle.

They walked a circle around camp, giving the tents a wide berth.

“I’ll be setting off with Lieutenant Hodgson to lead the hunting parties soon. You might not hear from me for a day or two.” Irving predicted.

“Everything depends on you finding game, now. Be safe.” Jopson bade.

“I will. I won't rest until I find something.” Irving avowed.

“...Captain Fitzjames said that you cried in front of the other officers when you heard the monkey was dead, is that true?” asked Jopson.

“It is... Jacko was very playful and friendly. It’s not so strange to mourn the loss of an animal, is it? You look like you’ve lost your own child every time Neptune goes missing.”

“Tis often said a pet is a substitute for a child.” Jopson agreed. “I don’t want to be too impertinent... but did you perhaps grow more attached to Jacko because you miss your own child?”

“... I never met my child.” Irving admitted sadly.

“But you wish you had.”

“It’s almost funny... how when there’s a baby on the way but things don’t work out... everyone suspects the man is trying to get away from the child... but I wish I was the one who could carry the child far away from her. She will be a poor mother. Sometimes when I’m alone, I weep, and wonder if the birth went well. Whether it’s a girl or a boy... I don’t care, as long as it’s healthy. It should be about two years old by now. A toddler. Able to walk and talk and eat and everything... I don’t even know what my child’s name is.”

As he made his sentimental confession, he retrieved a little lump of lead from his coat pocket; a Stoddert hollow-cast lead toddler miniature. He fiddled with it in his gloved fingers.

Jopson patted Irving on the shoulder. “You’ll see your child one day, John. I have no doubt.” he encouraged sympathetically.

Irving smiled tearily at him.

“I shan’t be any kind of decent father if I stay in the navy.”

“The navy is not what you hoped it would be, is it?”

“Am I such an open book, Thomas?”

“We’ve barely been out of each other's sights for the past two years; I feel like I know your nature."

“... It’s true... I’ve wanted to be a sailor for as long as I can remember. My perception of what the life of a seaman should be has not changed since I was five. I do confess it’s a chocolate box illustration perception of things... but why should I rid myself of my idealism and innocence as so many other men in my profession do?”

“You shouldn’t. I believe it’s your strength. It’s what makes you a brave comrade and officer in the present. It’s what will make you a good father in the future.”

Irving smiled gratefully at Jopson. “I haven’t heard such kind words in a long time.”

“Of all the men I’ve met on this voyage, you had the purest heart, John. The Navy needs people like you.”

“What about you?”

“Me, John?”

“You’re a good man. Untainted, true. Above all, loyal. Yet I cannot see what you use as a crutch or shield to maintain your dignity.”

“...If I tell my brother to help me with something, he doesn't ask me any questions, he trusts me, he does his tasks well and we reap the rewards together. So, I trust my commanding officers and my captain. Loyalty and trust will see us safely home.”

“Sometimes loyalty can be taken too far. Taken advantage of.” Irving cautioned.

“Well, if I am taken advantage of, I can trust you to put things right.” Jopson grinned.

_________________________________________________________________________________

Shortly after Irving and Hodgson left to find food, Jopson and Le Vesconte were sent out to lead the freshwater parties. Blanky was sent to keep an eye on Jopson on his first command.

In the middle of collection Jopson stood up, leaving his pic and buckets in the ice pit, he sniffed audibly and studied the landscape.

Hartnell tapped Blanky on the shoulder to draw his attention to Jopson.

"Something wrong, Lieutenant?” asked Blanky.

“Don’t you smell that?” Jopson questioned.

The young Lieutenant scrambled further up the rough pack ice, the others watched him curiously.

Blanky looked at the other men in the pit and grunted, “Get back to work, you’ll only have yourselves to blame when you get thirsty next camp!”

Jopson stared down at the pit on the other side of his perch, below a sheer drop. The snow was speckled red and littered with pink lumps of frozen organ and bone, as well as clumps of long, black fur not yet blown away in the wind. Something small, flat, like a copper penny-piece, glinted in the centre of the red snow patch.

Jopson looked back over his shoulder at the men collecting ice. Blanky was looking up at him.

“What’f ya found?!” Blanky called.

“I won’t trouble you Mr Blanky! Mr Hartnell, please come up!"

Jopson took Hartnell’s hand to help him up. Hartnell stared in horror at the mess Jopson had discovered.

“Oh god... it’s...” Hartnell stammered.

“Let’s not panic anyone now.” Jopson bade calmly.

“Jopson, I’m sorry.” Hartnell offered sympathetically and squeezed Jopson’s shoulder.

“This is my first post as Lieutenant, I can't go about screaming that our dog’s dead.” Jopson cautioned.

Hartnell wiped his redend nose on the back of his glove and sniffled. “Do you think a bear killed it?”

“I’d rather not speculate on things.” Jopson gave Hartnell a rope. “Lower me down, please, Mr Hartnell. I’m going to retrieve his tag.”

“What took you so flaming long?” Blanky questioned when Jopson and Hartnell hopped back down the snowy bank and got back to collecting fresh ice.

Jopson showed Blanky the bloodied collar and tag.

“Shit, there goes our only alarm against the creature.” Blanky grumbled.

On their return journey to camp Mr Blanky asked Jopson to help him walk and whispered to him some advice, “When we get back give the lads some praise and then dismiss them.”

“Well done, men. Get some food and sleep. Those were some long miles.” Jopson told his party.

They gave him sad, exhausted smiles and nods before scattering.

Blanky patted Jopson on the shoulder before he too went into his tent to sleep.

Jopson turned his head in Little’s direction when he heard him speak, “Des Voeux, take the watch!”

Little marched exhaustedly over to Jopson. “Take tea with me, Lieutenant Jopson.”

Jopson stared in surprise at Little.

In the shelter of the spacious officer’s tent Jopson poured some tea for himself and Lieutenant Little.

Jopson’s hands were shaking and he spilt some of the tea, then wiped it up.

“Sorry.”

“I’m sure Mr Hoar would be happy to...”

“I'll do it myself. It’s no problem.” Jopson insisted.

“You seem sort of... tightly wound.”

“For that I apologise.” Jopson sighed distantly and sat opposite Little at the long, narrow table.

Little watched how Jopson fidgeted quietly. The younger man tapped his fingers on the table.

Their conversation had come to loggerheads; Jopson didn’t like talking when he was angry, and Little wasn't any good at consoling.

“...I need a task. Give me a task, quickly.” Jopson pleaded impatiently, breaking the silence.

“But you’re not a steward anymore. You’ve been working hard. You need to rest...”

“If I do not have a task, I will not be able to discipline myself.”

“You’ve done nothing that needs disciplining for.” Little protested.

“My concern is not what I have done, it is what I might do. Please give me a task, sir.” Jopson insisted.

“Urm... washing up?”

“It's done already.”

“Washing?”

“Done.”

“Do you have anything to sew?”

“I have a designated sewing hour before breakfast.”

Little laughed and stifled himself with a hand over his mouth.

Jopson blinked in confusion at Little.

“I’m sorry. I beg of you, Thomas. Relax.” Little grinned and poured them both more tea.

“...I could groom you.” Jopson offered timidly.

“You had a specific grooming hour for Neptune, I imagine. Am I to be his replacement? My Captain’s ex-manservant wants me to be his new dog?”

“Your hair is looking quite untamed, sir.”

“Now’s not the time. The Captains have gone to the Cairn, we need to rest so we can provide efficient watches when they get back. What’s the matter?”

Jopson put Neptune's bloodied collar and tag on the table.

Little stared at it grimly and uttered, “Oh... So that’s it. You’re handling it well. Have you told Mr Hoar?”

“I don’t want to see him. How can such a shrewd man be so absent minded?”

“Well, men who think too much commonly lose attention on more immediate matters like locking the dog pen gate.” Little reasoned.

“But he was Sir John’s steward. The Mr Hoar I know is not some incompetent wretch that forgets what he should leave locked or unlocked.”

“Hold on... are you suggesting that Mr Hoar may have left the gate unlocked deliberately?” Little questioned.

Jopson sipped his tea. “Oh no. As if I’d suggest such a thing.” He said coyly. “...Of course, I would not speculate that Mr Hoar might have been involved in Neptune’s killing. Perhaps he’s just away with the fairies. But consider, the Newfie is a breed of strong, intelligent dog. For Neptune to be killed so quietly certainly points to him being put down by someone whom he trusted.”

“All of this is speculation. Please don’t confront Mr Hoar about it.”

“If I ever was going to confront Mr Hoar about it, it would have been with my fist and about half an hour ago.” Jopson assured.

“What’s that shouting outside?” Little asked cautiously and raised his hand for Jopson to stay quiet so he could listen.

Jopson and Little looked out of the tent.

They discover that what they heard was Lieutenant Hodgson’s panicked voice barking orders for the men to put up a perimeter and prepare for a ‘Netsilik Retribution’.

Hodgson, Armitage, Hickey and Pocock had returned with Irving and Farr’s dead bodies.

“What are you blithering about you lobotomised canary! You’re putting the whole camp in a useless panic!” Mr Blanky growled, walking angrily towards Hodgson.

Lieutenant Le Vesconte, who’d just returned from his freshwater party trip and was desperately in need of sleep, stumbled over to sit on a nearby crate and watch the officers quarrelling. “What’s going on?” He asked in weary bewilderment.

Little ran over to Hodgson, squeezed his shoulders and shook him lightly. “Pull yourself together man! What’s happened?”

“They’re savages! They’ll kill us all!” Hodgson wept.

“Do you know how ridiculous you sound?!” Blanky barked.

“They’ll want revenge!” Hodgson whimpered.

“Netsiliks are peaceful! They live in small family groups! They’re far too busy surviving to wage a war! You’ve got more to fear from a drove of arctic hares!”Blanky retorted.

“Everyone, calm down!” Little ordered.

“But just look at what they’ve done to poor John!” Hodgson cried, walked backwards to the sled, nearly tripping, and pointed at Irving’s naked corpse lying on it.

Jopson, Little, Le Vesconte and Blanky gathered round to stare.

The body had begun to freeze, turning Irving’s skin a bluish white, the twenty-three knife holes in Irving's chest and the diamond-shaped chunks carved out where his nipples and manhood once were had turned a gangrenous shade of purple.

The same smell of blood and frozen off-meat Jopson had sensed when he tracked down Neptune’s remains was omitting faintly from the scalped cadavers.

Irving’s greenish ocean blue eyes, not yet clouded with death, were staring wide open at the sky.

“Oh my god.” Le Vesconte gasped in horror.

Little stared at it, looking disturbed, then turned away to be sick.

“Doctor Goodsir! Come quick!” Jopson shouted.

Goodsir asked the Lieutenants to stay out of the medical tent while he inspected Irving and Farr's wounds.

“Where are his overthings, Lieutenant Hodgson?” Jopson asked.

Hodgson was sat on a crate, weeping, with Little sat beside him, rubbing his back, trying to provide some comfort.

Hodgson looked up at Jopson tearily, “What kind of a question is that?” he sobbed.

“John kept his closest personals in his coat pockets, his family will be wanting them back.” Jopson explained steadily.

“I... think his coat was torn off... left in the place he was killed; I didn’t think to fetch it at the time. I thought it best to hurry back to camp immediately.” Hodgson sniffled and wiped his tears on the back of his sleeve.

“You did the right thing, George.” Little assured sympathetically.

“Please wipe your eyes with a clean kerchief, not on your sleeve, Lieutenant Hodgson. You’ll get grit in your eye.” Jopson advised softly.

Hodgson took the advice quietly.

Jopson turned his attention to something far to the south, between the tents.

Little stood up to look at what had caught Jopson’s eye.

Crozier and Fitzjames were running back to camp.

Little ran to meet them.

__________________________________________________________________________________

“I'm not a decent shot, personally, but if I was...”

“Mr Hickey. The captain's asked to speak with you.”

Jopson had interrupted Hickey’s yarn, an offence punishable by death in Hickey’s vindictive mind, they were prepared to slit each other's throats, but they smiled falsely at each other.

“I was just coming to see him, Jopson. We need to speak immediately.”

“Don't also forget your overthings, Mr Hickey. You're going to need them. You're going back.”

While Jopson waited for Hickey to prepare he could read the emotions of the other men. They were on Hickey’s side, and eying Jopson contemptuously.

“How long will this take, Jopson?”

“We’ll be back by afternoon watch, Mr Hickey.”

“Aren’t you afraid that if we go back what happened to Lieutenant Irving and Mr Farr might happen to us?”

“Afraid? Me? You don’t know me.”

“Where you not a friend of Lieutenant Irving?”

“I was.” Jopson prided.

“But you don’t seem upset. Why is that, Jopson?” Hickey picked.

“Having witnessed his murder and mutilation yourself, why do you not appear to be absolutely traumatised, Mr Hickey?” Jopson poked sarcastically, tilted his head to the side and raised an eyebrow.

Hickey gave Jopson a smarmy grin. “I'm practicing restraint.”

“Then we agree that lamentation does no good. I want to let my friend rest in peace. Peace, Mr Hickey.”

“Prayers for peace cannot be heard out here, Jopson.”

“I’ll have you walk behind me, Mr Hickey. Try not to talk my ear off.” Jopson requested.

They passed Tozer on the way to the command tent and Hickey spoke out to the sergeant,

“We'll be back by afternoon watch if you need volunteers. Today may be the day.”

_________________________________________________________________________________

At the place of the attack, Jopson found Irving’s shredded coats. He took the lead toddler miniature from Irving’s pocket and bundled up Irving's possessions in a knapsack, to be taken back to his family.

“This lump of lead has been weighing him down since we left the ships.” Jopson said as he turned the miniature between his fingers.

“We shouldn’t carry useless things around with us.” Blanky advised him.

“Irving said he wanted to meet his child he left behind. I feel like... I should go in his stead and give this to the child. There’s a story in here.” Jopson expressed caringly.

“Aye, that is part of Irving's sole.” Blanky nodded. “But you may find you haven’t the strength to carry it home.” he warned.

Jopson dropped the miniature in to his pocket.

__________________________________________________________________________________

“But Mr Hickey's gone in already. He'll tell them we're back.” Goodsir cautioned.

Jopson wondered when Hickey had disappeared from beside him, the sun was in his eyes and the camp, though close, was barely visible through the freezing fog.

“I'll go on ahead and misdirect them, then.” Blanky asserted and began limping forth with the aid of his ice pic as a walking stick. “Lieutenant!”

Jopson nodded at Blanky and was about to prep his gun and follow the old Ice Master but halted when Crozier called to him softly.

“Jopson.”

Crozier gestured towards the smaller of the two carabao-skin bags of seal meat which Jopson had carried back from the murder scene.

Jopson gave Crozier that smaller bag and then followed Blanky closely back into camp.

“Things are looking bad for Lieutenant Little. If there’s to be a mutiny you can bet a Lieutenant is involved.” Blanky cautioned quietly.

“Not Lieutenant Little.” Jopson insisted.

“No? He’s not exactly open, how can you trust him? Sometimes you remind me of a child who likes anyone who gives them sweets.”

“Edward puts a lot of store in established authority, so he wouldn’t go against the captains. It’s Lieutenant Hodgson I don’t trust.”

“I'll hold Hodgson in contempt for shooting civilians.”

“He should have been watching Irving’s back... wait... Irving was attacked from the front... does it not strike you as odd that he was running unarmed towards his attacker?”

“Fetch Lieutenant Little to the command tent to be questioned. Stand guard, keep your ears unbuttoned and be ready for anything, even if it means confronting Little.”

Jopson nodded and went to look for Little.

_________________________________________________

Lieutenant Jopson and Lieutenant Le Vesconte were sent out with orders to arrest Mr Hickey and Sergeant Tozer at the same moment. This was made easier by the fact that Tozer and Hickey were speaking to each other when the Lieutenants found them.

“Sergeant Solomon Tozer and Petty Officer Cornelius Hickey, you’re both under arrest!” Jopson shouted.

“Put down your arms or Lieutenant Jopson and I are permitted to open fire on you.” Ordered Le Vesconte.

“What’s this about, Lieutenant Le Vesconte?” Hickey questioned with a nervous grin.

“You’re making a big mistake, Le Vesconte! You’ll live to regret this.” Tozer bellowed aggressively.

“Disarm!” Le Vesconte growled.

“Do as he says, Sergeant.” Hickey ordered lightly.

Tozer reluctantly complied.

“This arrest is unjust; we’ll see it through to the righteous outcome.” Hickey assured not only Tozer but the men watching the arrest.

In an otherwise empty tent, Jopson sat side on next to the flap and held Hickey at gunpoint.

The prisoner slurped down his last meal noisily.

Little walked through camp shouting, “Terror camp, clear! Terror camp is clear!” and his voice could be heard, slightly muffled beyond the rippling tent canvas.

“You’re not a real Lieutenant, Jopson.” Hickey grinned.

“I have a paper that says otherwise, Mr Hickey.”

“You haven’t risen in rank through merit. Captain Crozier is only using you as a temporary fix. He wanted to bulk up the number of Lieutenants because he feared Mutiny. It was an act of desperation.” Hickey evaluated.

“That still makes me a Lieutenant.”

Hickey chuckled under his breath, rolled his eyes and stared at the ceiling a moment.

“I have more sway over this camp in my little finger than you do in your entire body. Doesn’t that technically make me a higher rank than you?”

“I’m the one with a gun, doesn't that technically make me the more powerful man, Mr Hickey?”

“You? A man? Jopson? I remember reading somewhere... it used to be common practice to castrate manservants. Do you have any balls, Jopson?”

“I know you’ve got it in for me, Mr Hickey. Captain would have made you a Lieutenant if you hadn’t made your mistake last autumn. If he had, your Mutiny would have been successful. All I can say is, must be grim to be you.”

“I may yet triumph.”

Jopson leaned forward to peak out of the slit in the tent opening. He spied candidly upon Little as he paced through the camp.

Little called out, his voice swept up in the wind. “All men assemble at the south guard post in 30 minutes!”

_Please, not another thirty minutes with this damned insufferable sewer rat._

Jopson now realized the salty taste in his mouth was becoming more metallic. He pressed his forefinger gently against his gum and inspected the thick, red, blood droplet on his fingertip.

_The sands of time are running low._

The higher the odds stacked up against him the more he wanted to shoot something.

Most of his troubles were being caused by the menacing little rat-faced villain at the end of Jopson’s gun barrel; lying with his hands down his pants, smiling smugly away, trying to provoke Jopson’s wrath.

“Why is Sergeant Tozer being held?” Hickey pried calmly.

Thomas aimed and put his finger on the trigger. But he applied no pressure.

If Hickey and Tozer are to be taken to the gallows, rather than shot in the back of the head, the Captain must have his reasons.

“You're lucky you weren't just shot, Mr. Hickey.” Jopson informed bitterly.

“Do you have a sudden gift for aim, Jopson?”

“Everything we ate growing up started with a gun. My aim's fine, Mr. Hickey. I've shot smaller hawks than you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After re-watching I noticed Jopson wearing a cap in episode 3 for sir John's funeral and so in episode 8 he was probably just wearing the same one. But that cap could easily have been lost or damaged over time. Jopson seems to neglect this cap at times when it would be most practical until after Morfin's death, then he starts wearing it even though it's getting warmer and he doesn't really need it. Since Jopson is charged with taking Morfin to the stores tent I came up with the theory he lost his own cap and is wearing Morfin's. It seems the director wanted Jopson to be wearing the cap at times when he is to be perceived as someone with more authority. 
> 
> I think the director also made a point of having Jopson and Irving stand next to each other in many shots as a foreshadowing of Jopson eventually becoming the same rank as Irving. I was always fascinated by the shot of them watching Hickey's punishment, because the Lieutenants should have been stood together. Instead Jopson and Irving are stood together and their reactions to what they are seeing are starkly contrasted. I interpreted that as meaning they'd both had some sort of negative interaction with Hickey, Jopson especially looks like he's spilled the beans on something there. 
> 
> I had fun here writing Jopson and Hickey do their snappy, bitchy quips at each other.


	18. Erstarrung

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The point that they step from high adventure to horror”, is something that Kajganich specifically mentions in an interview: “We were interested to know, in the writers’ room, at what moment each character stepped from a high adventure story into a horror story, and that’s obviously different for every character.” If you ask me Jopson’s optimistic and innocent nature made him one of the last to step over that line. This chapter focuses on that transition for his story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tittle is from Schubert's Winterreise verse 4: "Erstarrung" ("Frozen")

“Mr Blanky! It’s Mr Reid!” Jopson shouted and ran to attend a man lying and twitching in a pool of blood. 

Blanky limped after Jopson and stood behind him. Blanky gave Reid a short, mournful glance, then raised his rifle cautiously and searched for some sign of the creature in the fog. 

Jopson knelt over Reid, ignorant of the pain of the stones pressing into his knees. He held Reid’s hand and shakily ran a cloth over Reid’s face to mop up the blood. He discovered no head injury, but a great gash across Reid’s chest. 

The monster’s claws had cleaved through clothes, flesh, bone and organ with ease, and Jopson realized the blood on Reid’s face had been entirely spluttered up from the poor man’s mouth. 

The Erebite Ice Master was struggling to breathe, choking on his own blood. 

Jopson wasn’t sure what to do. He could try tilting Reid to sit up right, but wouldn’t that only make the death slower and more painful? Reid had already lost a lot of blood and how could he breathe with both lungs punctured like this? Hopefully one of the lungs was still intact. 

There came a deathly scream from the north guard post. 

Blanky exchanged a nod with Jopson to let him know he was going to find the source of the noise. 

Jopson tried to pull away but Reid’s hand wondered desperately outwards for the return of the lad’s hand. 

Reid stared with frightened, pleading eyes up at Jopson and gasped helplessly, trying but failing to speak. 

Jopson squeezed Reid’s hand, to let him know he wasn’t alone and gently wiped more blood from Reid’s chin and neck. 

He stroked Reid’s hair, gradually the Ice Master relaxed and appeared to sleep. Jopson continued this kindness long after Reid was still able to feel it. 

The young Lieutenant was startled alert by fireworks streaking through the turbid vail of icy air. 

They flashed and collided with something big and white. The monster. It roared in pain and retreated, with its fur still singed and burning in places. 

Reid’s cold, dead fingers slipped away from Jopson’s hand as he stood up. 

He realised he could barely see through the mist, it was thickening, and he was surrounded by pained screams. 

He readied his gun and wandered with slow caution in the direction from which it seemed the fireworks had originated. 

He didn’t get more than a few feet before he was stopped by a man who was lying among the dead bodies and stones, reaching out to him and gasping weakly for help. 

“Mr Genge! What do you need?” Jopson asked worriedly and crouched beside him. 

Genge was a chubby faced, button nosed brunet, six-years Jopson’s junior. One of Jopson’s sisters was the same age. Genge had always been very quiet and subordinate. Easily startled by Jopson’s own tendency to make sassy remarks towards the officers. Not at all happy with his place in life, the youngest steward aboard Terror had always been quite frowny. 

The poor lad had been tossed across the rocks like a rag doll and broken or at the very least fractured his rib cage. If only there was a doctor available to give him a good look over. 

“Can you bring Dr Goodsir?” Genge pleaded tearily. 

“I don’t know where he is, Mr Genge. Can you sit up?” 

“Help me...” 

“I dare not move you unless you can tell me there is no pain in your spine and neck.” 

“There’s no pain there... only a numbness where I hit the rocks... the right side, sir.” 

“Alright... let me know if there’s any pain at all, lad, I’ll ease you up slowly.” 

Jopson did so, he paused when Genge whimpered. 

“Did I hurt you?” Jopson asked worriedly. 

“A little but I thank you, sir. Have you seen... Mr Thomas, sir?” 

“Mr Robert Thomas, the second master, yes? No, I’ve not seen him.” 

“Did the monster kill him? What of the monster, sir?” Genge questioned fearfully. 

Jopson pulled Genge backwards a few feet so he could lean the younger lad against one of the boats. 

Genge slumped forwards and Jopson pushed him back gently. 

“Are you cold or bleeding?” Jopson asked. 

Genge’s eyes had fallen shut, he looked peaceful. “Thank you, sir.” He muttered in relief. 

Jopson held Genge’s hand and squeezed, “Mr Genge, are you still with me?” 

“Can I sleep?” 

“No, no, try to stay awake.” Jopson protested softly. “You must be cold. I’ll try to find out what's happening... if the coast is clear then we can make a break for the tents, aye?” 

Jopson took his coat off and put it over Genge. The Lieutenant could bear with the chill while he scouted the perimeter. 

“Mr Jopson... they don’t need me, do they?” 

“Drink.” Jopson ordered lightly and held his tin drinking flask to Genge’s lips. 

Genge shook his head weakly, tears of pain washed the grey dust from his bruised face. “Please save your coat and water for an officer, sir." 

“You’re deputised, you’re practically an officer now, Mr Genge. Well done.” Jopson managed a radiant smile despite sympathy wrenching at his heart. 

“Thank you, sir.” Genge whispered wearily. 

“I’ll be back soon.” Jopson assured. 

Jopson walked slowly and cautiously back to the gallows with his gun at the ready. 

Whichever man-eating monster may be lingering in the fog, be it the Tuunbaq or Hickey or one of his mutineers, Thomas was determined to deal it a blow worth his place in a better relm than Niffelheim or whatever Mr Blanky called this purgatory. 

He halted and grimaced up at the noose swaying in the breeze. 

He heard the crunching of rocks under foot approaching and searched for it. 

Three blurry shadows wandered in the nearby fog. 

“Who’s that!” shouted Captain Crozier. 

“Captain!” Jopson called out and ran towards the three shadows. 

Once he was closer, he saw that the three shadows belonged to Little, Blanky, and Crozier. 

“Jopson!" Crozier cheered. 

“Thank god you’re alright!” Little gasped wearily. 

“Is it safe, sir? What’s going on?” 

“The mutineers have escaped but so’s that confounded monster.” Crozier informed. 

“Goodness, Edward! What’s happened to your head?” Jopson asked worriedly. 

Little was barely standing and holding a bloody cloth to the back of his head. 

Little stared at Jopson with too many things on his mind, but spoke no reply. 

“Where the hell’s your coat, Lieutenant?” Blanky snapped. 

“I gave it to Mr Genge.” 

“Don’t let yourself freeze, son. Put Genge into a tent and get your coat back.” Crozier beckoned urgently. 

“I’m not sure if he can be safely moved, sir.” 

“See if you can find Bridgens or Goodsir then.” Crozier advised softly. 

Everyone was startled by Fitzjames’s tall, frail figure walking towards them, with mere strength of determination maintaining his proud balance throughout every painful step. 

“I finally got that bloody ugly demon!” Fitzjames panted. “I don’t care whatever curse it’s put on me, I finally put my wrath on the bloody thing!” Fitzjames raised his voice as he struggled closer. 

“He'll do amazing things to be seen.” Crozier chuckled under his breath before running to meet with Fitzjames. “James! Don't exert yourself!” 

“Francis!” Fitzjames held his arms out in a gesture desiring to be hugged and Crozier obliged him with a tight embrace. 

Then the younger captain’s legs gave way and he fainted in Croziers arms. 

Jopson was doing what he could to help Bridgens tend to the sick and injured, when he was informed by Le Vesconte that the captain wanted to see him at the command meeting pronto. 

The command tent was untouched by the Tuunbaq’s attack. 

Little was in sick bay and there for absent. 

Fitzjames had insisted on attending the meeting only to fall asleep, slumped forwards with his forehead against the table and a blanket over his shoulders. 

Le Vesconte and Jopson came into the commend tent, Jopson was carrying a hot tea pot and some biscuits. 

Jopson started pouring out the tea gracefully as if still in London. 

That was a reassuring sight. 

No one is sure why, but it has been the British way for god knows how long, to be able to sit and have a cup of tea no matter what kind of chaos is surrounding the regiment, crew, club or household. 

Le Vesconte held a biscuit between his teeth as he sat down. He shook Fitzjames’s shoulder lightly and spoke softly, 

“Hey, wake up, Fitzy.” 

Fitzjames groaned sleepily, barely stirred. 

“Let him sleep, Dundy, he’s earned it.” Crozier advised lightly. 

“He’ll be in a mood when he wakes up and finds he’s missed the meeting.” Le Vesconte warned. 

“You can brief him then... right, let’s get down to it.” Crozier cleared his throat and continued, he had a skill for acting and could mask his tiredness well, but Jopson always saw through all of Croziers facades. “We shall gather our dead once the fog has lifted. After the blow Captain Fitzjames dealt the monster, now is a better time than ever to rest. Before it recovers. This will be our mantra. I don’t want any of the men to be too frightened to sleep here tonight. We have a long walk ahead of us.” 

Le Vesconte nodded seriously. 

“Sir- Urm, how long can we stay here?” Jopson questioned nervously. 

“We can afford no more than thirty hours.” answered Crozier. 

“You intend for us to start walking again the morning after tomorrow then?” Le Vesconte checked. 

Crozier nodded at the older lieutenant and then turned his attention back to the younger when Jopson spoke up worriedly, 

“Captain, Mr Bridgens reports that Lieutenant Little may have a concussion, sir, and has recommended at least two days' rest, which includes limiting activities that require thinking and mental concentration.” 

“Thank you, Jopson. Don’t worry, we’ll give Edward as much time as he requires.” Crozier assured. “Dundy would you please make one last effort to secure a perimeter before you retire tonight?” 

“Sir.” 

“Jopson, I want you to ask the able-bodied men if any are willing to choose themselves out as temporary cook. You can show them how to operate a stove.” 

“Sir, I think I would be best suited to that job.” Jopson reasoned. 

Crozier denied him, “No more menial labour for you today, I'm putting you on the dog watch. You’re the only one of us who doesn't look like he’s about to collapse from exhaustion or have a heart attack.” 

“He doesn't trust the marines.” Le Vesconte whispered. 

“You’ll have the opportunity to do some star gazing, that’ll cheer you up.” Crozier offered. 

Jopson conjured one of his angelic smiles. 

__________________________________________________________________________________ 

Jopson's slumber was made restless by the memory of his younger brother begging him not to go back to sea. 

Mr A. Wakes had once visited during one of their arguments over this, and joked in front of Timothy “He’s not coming back, he’ll jump ship in O‘ahu, do give those exotic ladies all my love, Thomas.” 

“Allen, don’t tease him.” Jopson laughed lightly. 

“Who’ll take care of me when you go?” Timothy sobbed, pressed his face against Thomas’s chest to hide his tears. 

“I’m sure one of our sisters can make room for you if you need it. You have dad, too.” 

“Dad stumbles from work, to the pub, to bed and then back to work again, he has no time for us.” Timothy protested. 

“If you find yourself in adverse circumstances you can always work for me, I run a child’s pickpocket gang like Fagin from Oliver Twist.” Allen joked, and for once actually made Timothy cheer up a bit. 

Lieutenant Jopson awoke at midnight. It would be his watch in a few more hours so he decided he may as well wander to wherever his feet seemed so desperate to take him. 

The astronomical bodies illuminated the frosted, stony desert, so the moonscape below Thomas’s boots mirrored its brother world suspended in its full brightness near the inky horizon. 

He found Fitzjames wandering also in the dark. 

“I’m thankful to that great blue cumulonimbus to the south. It reminds me of a castle. Adds more complexity to this otherwise monotonous realm. Perhaps it hovers over our salvation.” said Fitzjames while pointing off in the distance and thus drawing Jopson’s attention to the lonely column of cloud. 

“You should sleep, sir.” 

“I should. I’m tired all the time now. The pain wakes me up.” 

“Maybe the men who stayed on Terror were right. Maybe it is better to die under English blankets and smelling English coal. Not in this void.” 

"We must not seek the void... we must not run away from it either.” 

“Forgive me, sir, it’s not like me to be so foreboding. The recent trials have changed something in me.” Jopson apologised with a sad smile. 

“I know. We all saw it. Francis is especially disturbed; he feels he’s robbed you of your innocence." 

Jopson lowered his head sadly. 

“He shouldn’t be disheartened by something so trivial.” 

There was a moment of dower silence. 

“Well, you’ve tired me out already.” Fitzjames chuckled lightly and patted the young lieutenant on the back. “When you’re hauling, pick a spot ahead and make that your goal. Man, treads with fewer anxieties when he can see where he is going.” 

“Thank you, sir.” 

Fitzjames’s rattling footsteps disappeared back under the black shadows of the tents. 

By the end of his watch, the maraca of trodden stones was surely soon to make Jopson’s ears bleed, for he was making his two hundredth round of the camp’s perimeter. 

The sun breached the empty horizon like the crimson pollution of a single blood droplet in water. Complete with the rings of a sundog and rosy flames that tormenting produced no detectable cure to the cold. 

His heart yet beat, forcing blood through his veins like flowing water smothered and crushed between the glaciers of hunger and fatigue. 

Veins ripe to be spilled open by scurvy. 

With an intent to enquire about Fitzjames’s rumour that Crozier had felt guilty for changing Jopson’s station and thus changing him, he tiptoed carefully towards Captain Crozier’s tent. 

"Captain?” 

Jopson heard no reply and entered thoughtlessly, soon comforted by the scent of Crozier’s sweat and the melody of his shallow breathing. 

It had been so long since he’d first watched over his Captain’s slumber that it almost felt nostalgic to oversee him once again. 

His thoughts had become more turbid with every step away from the ship, how clumsy of him to intrude and take the liberty of watching his master sleep. His mind had truly become empty of all thoughts except for his Captain. 

Everything else crumbled away like soil from an unearthed jewel. 

“I’m not asleep, Jopson.” Crozier assured lazily, not bothering to open his eyes. 

Jopson stayed quiet. 

After a short pause Crozier began rambling tiredly, “You know... after I was appointed to the rank of commander in 1837, I told myself, I’d have six more good years of adventuring before I was knighted and settled down. Now it’s ten years... and two expeditions later... are you listening?” 

“Every word.” Jopson promised lovingly. 

“... after I’m dead and I’m gone, what do you think the world will say of me?” 

“They’ll say you did what you could to guide us safely home.” 

“... did I do all I could do?” 

“Of course, sir! And when we get back, what we’ve done will be considered a great feat. Everyone will know and remember you, sir!” Jopson insisted. 

“No, no. I wasted my life at the bottom of a whiskey glass. I should have sobered up sooner and moved out quicker.” 

“You sobered just in time in my opinion, sir. You made good use of your time. Even Captain Fitzjames saw no recourse but to drink and party until the light returned.” Jopson countered earnestly and shyly. 

“Do you know what Fitzjames was doing during that long, useless winter?” Crozier questioned with a mild bitterness that surprised Jopson. 

“Well... he kept things in order while you were ill, sir. If I may say, he did a brilliant job.” 

Crozier cracked his eyes open partially and looked at Jopson. He made a gap-toothed smile and patted the side of the bed, trying to entice Jopson to sit there. The lad complied with the mixture of eagerness and caution found in a deer leaving the shelter of its woods to eat grass. 

Crozier’s smile faded cryptically and he rasped, "In his spare time, he was drawing, on a large piece of parchment he’d saved. Drawing a scene from a painting he’d seen in France, from memory. The Triumph of Death by Pieter Bruegel the elder, are you familiar with it?” 

“I... don’t think so, sir. No.”Jopson confessed unsurely and shook his head. 

“It shows all the different ways death prevailed across Europe during the thirty years war. Every horrible way to die you can think of! A horde of death swarms over the land. An army of skeletons. The four horsemen of the apocalypse are in there too.” Crozier almost sounded like a father telling his young son a scary story. 

“I don't think I should have liked this painting if I had ever seen it, sir.” Jopson concluded. 

Crozier laughed lightly, then turned serious, concentrating. He recalled more details. 

“In the bottom right corner is a party. A party of nobles and knights interrupted by the great chaos surrounding. The illusion of civility disturbed by inevitable doom. James inked the knights who were not yet dead with the faces of my Lieutenants. Now in that... furthest right corner of that party is meant to be a drunken musician lying in the lap of a woman, who has him singing from a book of poems... those two are the most ignorant of all... to the pain and suffering going on in the world...” 

“Surely there’s no shame in wanting to be happy before one’s inevitable doom, sir.” 

“In their stead... James drew me, drinking with my head in your lap while you held up an astronomy tome to me. Is that the way he sees me? Us?” 

“... did Captain Fitzjames show you this drawing of his willingly or did you perhaps stumble upon it?” 

“He showed it to me... but he had originally intended for no one to see it. He told me nothing more than it had been an outlet for his deepest, darkest, most violent thoughts over winter.” 

“Might I venture to beg Captain Fitzjames to show it to me, sir?” 

“He’s burnt it now... he’s shoved it in the stove, so we'd have enough fuel to cook supper.” 

“Was he ashamed of it then?” 

“I think he intends to burn all his books and drawings now.” 

“Sir, I think what you saw was only Captain Fitzjames’s opinion of us when he was in his lowest temper.” Jopson asserted softly. 

Crozier’s eyes fell shut and he nodded. “It serves me right then. And it’s not the least flattering depiction of myself I’ve seen.” 

“What was?” Jopson asked. He laughed lightly, because he didn’t expect Crozier had been depicted often. 

Crozier widened his eyes at Jopson and sat up, he was grinning. 

“Oh, the worst might have been during the play about Algonquian, Massacred by Mohawk. The admiralty and naval wardroom officers were invited forth with free tickets. After the play we were presented with a bonus depiction of Sir James Ross at Furthest South. On a scaffold above the actors heads were these mechanical aurora australis, made from strings of glass beads reflecting hidden lamps of purple, green and gold.” 

Jopson was delighted by Croziers vivid description and his smile broadened to bring out the dimples on his rosy cheeks. 

Crozier continued, though he blushed when he saw the effect of his words; “That audience of delusional toff's cheered, as close by 10,000 miles to that strange locale as they will ever get! It may as well be the moon to them. Behind the comely actor playing James Ross they had a homely one depicting me. Sure, I am no comely fellow, but I should have preferred to be invisible than be depicted as a fat man with messy hair, and under bite and bad teeth!” Crozier chuckled. 

“That sounds awful! And here I would have thought that portion of society was polite company.” 

“I suppose that’s just how people see me.” 

"That’s not how I see you.” Jopson assured with warm affection. 

Still with a humoured grin, but some teary due sparkling in his eyes, Crozier bent forwards and clasped both of Jopson’s shoulders. “My dear boy.... you’re after my own bleeding heart, you are.” 

Jopson was pulled down into and unexpected hug and he welcomed the warmth as his cold ear and cheek was pressed against Crozier’s chest through the soft nightshirt. 

“Give us a kiss.” Crozier clucked and kissed the top of Jopson’s raven head. 

Thomas giggled innocently and let himself be held for a moment. 

He’d forgotten what he’d come to talk to Francis about. 

__________________________________________________________________________________ 

Jopson glared tiredly at the lane of bodies lined up on the rocks. 

“Burn our dead, Thomas. Let them be warm as they go.” Crozier advised with a sentimental glow. 

No amount of warmth, not from his Captain’s eyes, nor the heat of the crematory flames, could thaw the winter in Thomas’s heart. 

The warmth of the Captain’s embrace and kisses had perhaps prevented the inevitable. But a kiss cannot heal a wound. Be it to the mind or the body. Only a child is fooled by such notions. 

As the loyalists took their leave many comrades remained scattered after Tuunbaq’s rampage, aimlessly as snow in the stormy winds of fate. 

They left behind possessions of the dead and missing, including Mr Diggle's stove and what medical equipment Mr Bridgens was not sure how to use without Dr Goodsir’s supervision. 

Thomas hauled the heavy sled with the might of Sisyphus pushing his bolder up mount impossible. 

He searched vainly amongst the rocks and snow flurries for a goal to stride towards. 

The green meadow he imagined in the distant south was so far away it may as well have been a dream. 

As far off a dream as being accepted as a Lieutenant in London society, in full dress, complete with a sword and golden epaulets. 

Distant as the stars about which he shall never truly understand well enough to impress Captain Crozier. 

If ever he could tread those desires, ambitions, stars or blades of green grass beneath his boots, he would kiss the ground and pay his deepest respects to the living earth. 

After twelve thousand torturous paces, Captain James Fitzjames collapsed. Wilted like an early flower thawed in spring. His loved ones, Thomas Jopson included, rushed to aid him, like the devotees of Lord Nelson, gathered around to ease his passing. 

The men made camp there. So James would have somewhere warm to rest.


	19. Endymion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jopson essentially has three different goodbyes to major characters in this. First he has a bad falling out with Edward Little over their different ideas about how to treat the sick. Then Blanky lets him know he's off to take down the Tuunbaq, and then we get some sad, fluffy comfort stuff with Jopson and Crozier, had to end with those two because I wanted their dynamic to be the focus of the fic. Hope you enjoy!

In the mutineer's camp, Golding came into Mr Hickeys tent.

“Magnus said you asked for me.” Golding said cautiously. Of course, the lad was still exhausted and frightened after his narrow escape from Tunnbaq.

Hickey grinned at Golding and offered him a shred of salt meat on a tiny biscuit, atop a dusty, shipped tea saucer.

Golding snapped it up in one hungry second and then stared gratefully at Hickey, awaiting orders.

“What do you have to report?” asked Hickey.

“Fitzjames and Mr Blanky are too sick to haul. The larger group have made camp short of their intended goal. They’ll wait there until there is some drastic change in Fitzjames’s condition, I believe.”

“That’s good news. Two less obstacles for us to concern ourselves with. Are any of the Lieutenants sick yet?”

“From what I can see, they all seem to be in very good health. Jopson can haul for three men at least.”

“Of course, that’s because they get fed more than the rest of the men.” Hickey snorted. He thought a moment before continuing, “There’ll be no foreseeable means of isolating Crozier from the others as long as Jopson is in the way. Would you be prepared to take care of him for me?”

“How do you suppose I do that?”

“The Arctic veterans are always very strict about us using fresh ice and snow for the water parties. Did you know that’s because the wrong sort of ice is poisonous when melted into water?” Hickey questioned with a shrewd grin.

Golding shook his head.

“When you return to the larger group, see if you can put some of that poison in the drinks of the Lieutenants.” Hickey instructed.

__________________________________________________________________________________

Alone in his little tent, Thomas sat on his bed and inspected the re-opened scars on his right shin.

He had hauled for days, just putting up with that searing pain.

For what felt like an eternity he had watched the back of Captain Crozier’s head through the raven locks that fell over his ice coloured eyes. The strength in Crozier’s shoulders and the rhythm of his boots.

Now that image was imprinted on the back of his eyelids.

Thomas had told himself the Captain was his goal, the place he wanted to reach. Never a thought for what he would do if he could catch the Captain.

But their footsteps were in sink and the distance between them, constant.

Thomas had the will power to keep his turmoil inside. But he feared he was only a week behind Fitzjames upon Jacob’s ladder into the invisible brother world. He simply was not as strong and durable in body as Fitzjames.

_No, I will keep the wound clean and press on._

He reached a trembling hand out to retrieve his whale bone comb from his knapsack and he brushed the grease from his hair. Some bloody strands were pulled from his scalp. He threw the comb down angrily and washed the best he could with what little water he had left.

After drying himself carefully he lay back on his bed, buried himself in covers and tried to stay still. Conserve energy. Hibernate. Meditate on healing. He struggled with the dilemma of resting to add more time to one's life and spending what little time he had doing something more useful.

Nearby a man was muttering quietly to himself. Singing, perhaps, but tunelessly. Jopson recognized that it was Little’s voice, but it was weak, sad and dry.

“Joy, beautiful spark of the gods, Daughter of Elysium, we enter, drunk with fire, Heavenly one, thy sanctuary.”

Jopson peaked with one glassy eye out of his blankets and watched Little’s shadow cast over the tent canvas in the weak, evening sunlight.

“Thy magic binds again what custom strictly divided; All men become brothers, where thy gentle wing abides.”

“But you would let your brothers perish alone with last words.” Jopson spoke out through the canvas.

Little fell silent. They both stayed still and mute. Partitioned by a windswept vail and only able to see each other’s shadows.

“… I want to see you.” Little said.

“Why didn’t you want to see me yesterday when you had your secret meeting with Le Vesconte?”

“I was going to, but you were in deep revelry with your beloved Captain.”

“Our Captain.” Jopson corrected angrily.

“But he is your beloved. Beloved is one who receives love. It is not inaccurate to point out you bestow copious amounts of love upon the Captain.”

“I love and want to protect all of my comrades. I am prepared to sacrifice everything for you all.”

Little walked around the tent, towards the entrance.

“I don’t want you in here! You are corrupt!” Jopson protested.

Little hesitated, but then untied the rope holding the flap shut and let himself into the tiny shelter.

Once inside he pulled the rope tightly back into place and knotted it.

“What are you doing? Please leave.” Jopson denied meekly, he was lying with his back to Little and shivering all over.

Little knelt beside Jopson, his outstretched hand hovered over the trembling bundle of blankets, but his fingers curled into a frustrated fist and he retreated shyly. He resisted his instinct to bring some form of physical comfort to the poor man below him.

A tender hand would not be welcomed when such upset had been caused moments earlier.

“Are you sick?” Little asked worriedly.

“It’s no good pleading with a villain to be merciful… you’ve come in here to torment me.” Jopson wept quietly.

“Look, I won’t… I know what Le Vesconte and I suggested earlier was upsetting to hear but...”

Jopson turned in his bed and fixed Little a glare that had the older man recoiling guiltily.

Little’s tone quickly changed from justifying to apologetic, “It was wrong. It was all his idea! The Captain easily helped me see the error of my ways, I’m the worst kind of sorry, Thomas.”

Jopson cut Little’s apology off with a snarl, “You’re such a liar!”

This sparked an immediate outrage in Little.

“How dare you...!”

Jopson sat up with a start and passionately spoke over him again, “I saw the look you exchanged with Lieutenant Le Vesconte! There was not an ounce of genuine shame in it! Only disappointment that we weren’t going to leave the sick to die. You’re prepared to give a death sentence to those men! If you’ll condemn men to death just for being sick--- as if they are only any good so long as they can be of some use to you--- why not go the whole way and eat them too! Make use of their bodies entirely why don’t you!?” Jopson lay back again and grumbled quietly, “...You can start with Captain Fitzjames and finish with me.”

Little raised his hand towards Jopson’s face and Jopson flinched, expecting to be struck for losing his temper. But Little only gently caressed Jopson’s forehead, sleeking some inky-black hairs back.

His fingers then ghosted over Thomas’s cheek, lips then chin. Jopson stared bewildered into Little’s sad, dark eyes.

“You’re so venomous... Thomas. Snakes have beautiful eyes and hiss softly, but their mouths are filled with poison.” Little muttered.

"What do you want? I’m afraid I can’t be of any help to you unless you plan on using me down to my last muscle.” Jopson growled quietly.

“You're below me in every way. I don't understand how you can keep me in chains.” Little lamented and ran his fingers slowly across Jopson’s neck.

“Just typical. People like you always blame their lack of self-control on whatever drink or drug or shallow surface of a being sparks their fancy. The whiskey did not keep Captain Crozier in chains, he bound himself with it. Nor do I enchain you. You’ve ensnared yourself. Do not pretend that you were ever fond of me, sir. You merely took a liking to my outer shell. What a fool I was to trust you. My death shall be on your hands now and what a pretty corpse I shall make for you. With all my being I curse you.”

Little pulled his hands away from the warmth beneath Jopson’s collar.

“It was more than a mere liking, I assure you... I was obsessed by you… I just never knew what to do about it.” Little confessed desperately. “Please show some pity, Thomas. I’m shy. When I first saw your beautiful smile, I wanted to run away, I couldn’t even introduce myself to you properly.” Little defended miserably. Tears welled in his eyes and dropped onto the white fibres of the wolf blanket.

“Pity? Captain tolerates me because I have no pity. We are all god’s meek servants; it gives us no excuse to become wretched and grovel when he takes his hand away from us. Reality cuts deep when devotion only flows one way, it flows out from the body like blood. If you’ll stay and bleed with me, I’ll forgive you.”

“… I can’t. I want to live.”

“If only we could swap bodies. I could do so much more with your strength than you could ever dare to dream of.”

“…Can you still haul tomorrow?”

“Yes, I can hall. I can hall for ten men so long as my Captain is ahead of me. I’m not sick. You won’t have me. Not yet.” Jopson avowed stubbornly.

For some time after their harsh falling out, Edward remained by Thomas’s side; knelt in a silent, self-torturing state with his face in his hands, suffocating his sobs and trying to stop himself crying so he could leave, and hopefully, never return to the same tent as Thomas.

_________________________________________________________________________________

Again, the tents and supplies were packed away into the boats, so were the sick and their left-over possessions, but the camp was yet to move out.

Jopson stood part of the way up a smooth, round hillock in the monotonous rocky landscape. Looking down mournfully as the last stitches were made in Fitzjames’s hammock.

His old comrades, those who yet lived, were near. They all looked like tired and overgrown bramble woodland, their hair and beards wavered messily in the dry, deadly wind.

Fitzjames was wisely the most determined to keep up and encourage neatness. With him gone the men would not be able to see each other’s faces through the chaos of hair in a week’s time.

Jopson told himself he would try to keep both his and Crozier’s appearances up. Good for health and morale.

“Why did he have to die?” Hartnell questioned sadly.

Bridgens spoke up from the bottom of the small hill. “One of the contributing factors to this is that he deliberately starved himself to feed the rest of the men. I tried to stop him, but he insisted self-sacrifice was the heroic thing to do. I hope none of you attempt to emulate this.” Bridgens warned gravely.

“Not to worry, John.” Peglar smiled, “There are no more Heroes among us now. Only cowards.” This was intended as a self-deprecating joke but only Bridgens recognised Peglar’s attempt at humour and he smiled sympathetically at him.

“Speak for yourself.” Hartnell grumbled.

“This place makes cowards.” Jopson said distantly.

“Why does it have to be us?” Tom Hartnell asked dreadfully. “Why us?”

“Because there’s no one else here, Tom. This is what we signed up for.” Peglar sighed disappointedly.

Bridgens quietly asked for Peglar to step down from his place on higher ground and take his hand.

Little had just been discussing something on the far side of the packed away camp, with Blanky, Crozier and Golding.

When Little made his way back towards Fitzjames’s grave, Jopson watched him coming closer and turned away to wander up the hill.

“Don’t wander off too far, lieutenant Jopson.” Bridgens warned.

He wandered down the other side, out of sight, to be alone with his thoughts.

He sat on a bolder and waited for a whistle to bade him forth to the other side like a dog.

What happened to poor Neptune? Did the dog suffer? Was Mr Hoar responsible?

Then Jopson thought about Fagin, was the cat still catching rats in the lowest ring of Erebus?

Thinking of Erebus made him think of Jacko the monkey too, and that reminded him of his last conversation with John Irving.

Thomas took the tiny led toddler miniature out of his pocket and stared at it.

John would have been a good father. He was free-spirited and simple.

Remembering John smiling made Thomas smile too. A rare flicker of joy warmed him.

He rooted through his coat pockets, leafed through the folded-up drawings and watercolours by Fitzjames and by Irving that had come into his possession over the years, along with Crozier’s letter.

He thought about how he would probably be forced to burn all this precious paper to keep himself warm, soon. But he would look at them for now.

“Poor Tom will injure nothing.” sung Blanky’s voice from atop the hill.

Jopson looked over his shoulder and watched Blanky hobble down the shallow slope, towards him with a grin on his face.

“Except for anything that’s edible.” Jopson smiled and shrugged.

Blanky sat next to him with a wooden thud from his prosthetic leg.

The ice master spoke slow and steady and Jopson stared at him with wide, sparkling grey-green eyes. Melancholic but accepting of their situation.

“Lieutenant… I wanted to give you this. It’s no good where I’m going.” Blanky held out his shiny, brass pocket watch to Jopson.

Jopson looked at the watch in Blanky’s hand and then smiled meekly at the ice master. “Where are you going?” he asked.

“It took a while, but I finally managed to persuade Francis to let me go. I’m off to try and lure the monster away from our group. Buy you all some time.”

Jopson stared gravely into Blanky’s squinting purple-blue eyes and slowly held out his hand. He felt Blanky place the watch in his palm but Jopson did not break his soul-searching gaze.

“You’re very brave, sir. I won’t forget this.” Jopson swore admiringly.

“I have another favour to ask.” Blanky grinned and held up some small, ivory trinket, between his thumb and his finger.

Jopson stared at the strange, three-pronged thing. It was half the length of his little finger and had a string attached to it.

“That is a lucky charm that I won in a bet with an Icelandic whaler, when I was a lad working for the Greenland fishing industry on a ship called the Volunteer. When you get back to England, and you will get back to England,” Blanky emphasized, “I’d like you to give this to my daughter.” Blanky turned his gaze from Thomas and stared out across the vast landscape. “Her name is Leona and she works at a pub in Whitby.”

“…What’s the name of the pub?” Jopson asked while tying the charm around his neck.

The whistle to move out came from over the hill. Jopson stood up and helped Mr Blanky stand too. He tucked the trinket under his shirt.

Thomas left an invisible trail of blood and devotion on the rocks as he hauled.

His body was turning tough, thin, discoloured. Everything hurt.

Every step closer to England made the led toddler miniature in his pocket heavier. He wished he had left it at Irving’s grave.

He abandoned the miniature regretfully, along with Neptune’s collar, his books, and even Blakey's pocket watch.

All heavy little tokens dropped away.

_Is this what my Captain meant by ‘sacrifices’?_

_Can there be no keepsake, then, to carry away with me?_

_When my sorrows fall silent what shall remind me of them?_

On principle, the third lieutenant would not complain about the slack in the harnesses of the men beside him, it would only kick up an unnecessary fuss and everyone was miserable enough as it was.

Besides, he had told Lieutenant Little he was strong enough to haul for ten.

They made camp again and he could finally rest.

He was in solitude in his little shelter again.

He lay back, closed his eyes and counted the golden footprints from Fitzjames’s grave to wherever this place was now.

His throat was saw with thirst, he licked salty flakes of dry, pealing skin from his lips.

He thought about how he would like to get up and use the telescope, or read, or wash.

But he could not move a muscle.

He wanted to sleep.

Losing consciousness was like sinking into a hot bath.

He dreamt of the tall, Antarctic icebergs drifting smoothly past his window aboard Terror.

Remembered the nights in furthest south, when his Captain was too cold to sleep, but the mercury wasn’t low enough to warrant lighting the ship’s boiler or fires. Crozier would ask if he would like to discreetly share a bed with him.

Thomas was always grateful for such a warm, safe and comfortable place to sleep.

But since their reunion the Captain had not asked this of him again.

__________________________________________________________________________________

At first Thomas thought the pleasant sensation on his skin was the light brush of swaying flowers in a meadow he dreamt he was lying in.

Then he believed his mother was nursing him through a fever and so he had been placed in the soft luxury of his family’s only bed.

Yet every time he tried to look upon her face, she turned her head away, showing only her long, wavy, black hair.

He tried to reach his hand out towards her.

Slowly he came to realise how impossible it would be for her to return to him. Not unless it was true that he could find her in the next world, in which case he would have been dead.

The thought of his own death infuriated him.

He was afraid to see her face now. It might not have been the pleasant sight he recalled from his childhood. Perhaps instead her face was contorted with the horror and delirium she had felt in her final moments. Perhaps she looked dead. Was she sparing him from that sight?

If this were the same creature that departed from him those years ago then should it not have scorned him as it did back then?

Thomas woke with a start. Stabbed with the epiphany that these fears and questions didn’t matter, for he was still lying on the barren surface of King William land.

Alive.

For now.

It was night, there was lamp light.

He widened his eyes when he realised the blurred figure leaning over him and running a hot, damp cloth over his cheek was...

“S-sir? Is there anything I can do for you?” Jopson asked urgently. His cheeks burnt pink with shyness.

Crozier took the cloth away briefly, Jopson’s jolt awake had surprised him. But he soon relaxed and brought the warm cloth to the back of Jopson’s ear.

“Sorry. I didn't mean to startle you.” Crozier whispered gently.

Crozier proceeded to cleanse Jopson’s neck and then moved on to the lad’s torso through a partially unbuttoned shirt.

Thomas relaxed under his Captain’s soothing strokes. His eyes fluttered shut, thus displaying the beautiful black fan of his long lashes.

Occasionally the cloth ran over more sensitive areas of his body and he was too exhausted and disoriented to supress his little, involuntary twitches or moans.

Francis watched him curiously and realised he was presiding over a very sensitive subordinate, both physically and mentally.

Thomas wearily glimpsed into his Captain’s eyes and took the meaning of his stare as judgmental and disapproving.

“Oh... Captain... I’m so sorry... you know you don’t have to do this.” Thomas panted nervously.

Francis just smiled at him and laughed sadly through closed lips. He replaced the damp cloth with a dry one to mop up the moisture on Thomas’s skin and keep it from freezing.

Francis did up the loose buttons in Thomas’s shirt.

Thomas was startled once again when he felt the breaches of his small clothes being unbuttoned and pulled down.

“Do you want me to help, sir?” Jopson offered timidly.

“I just want to have a look at your scars, lad.” Francis assured.

“Of course, sir.”

Thomas was quite powerless to protest, but he trusted his entire being to his Captain and would not have gone against him, whatever he intended.

“It may get a little cold… but bear with me.” Francis apologised as Thomas’s legs became exposed to the frigid air.

Thomas shyly held the front of his shirt down over the middle of his thighs to protect his decency and pressed his knees together while Francis inspected the opened scars on his right shin.

“Just as I thought. This is Just like how James’s bullet wounds looked before he died.”

With a new cloth, steaming as it was freshly pulled from the hot water basin, Francis began cleaning away the puss in the wound.

Thomas squirmed slightly as he adjusted to the ribbons of pain shooting up from his leg.

“Ah… Captain… maybe you should fetch Doctor Goodsir…” Thomas whimpered sensitively.

“The mutineers took Goodsir away more than a week ago, remember?”

“What about... Mr Bridgens... sir?”

“Last I saw him; he was morning the loss of Mr Peglar.”

“…Peglar’s gone?” Thomas asked tearily.

“...I’ve seen this done enough times to have a good idea about what to do. I promise I’ll bring you home safe, Thomas.” Francis swore.

“Might I beg you to tell me how long we have been camped here, sir?”

“Don’t let it trouble you.”

“I'd like to know how long I've been sleeping, sir?”

“Two days and nights. You must be hungry. I’ve asked Tom Hartnell to fetch you some tea and soup. We’ll get your strength back up soon.”

“Thank you very much, sir.”

“Did you dream a lot?”

“Yes. Like Endymion waiting for Selene to wake him up. I wasn’t sure what was real and what was a dream... is this a dream, Captain?”

“I assure you I’m quite real, Thomas.” Francis chuckled.

He finished cleaning the wound and placed a kiss next to it.

Thomas watched him with bashful astonishment.

“Captain?” Jopson gasped.

“Don’t be afraid to wait on me this once, my lad.” Francis pleaded.

“No master... nor friend... has ever been so good to me as you. I cannot ask more of you, Captain.” Thomas whispered in adoration.

Francis had a small, leather pouch of moss to hand, it’s antiseptic properties well known to someone who grew up in the countryside such as himself. He began chewing it into a paste and pressing it into the wound. Thomas winced again.

“Is that necessary, sir?” Thomas whimpered; tears escaped the corners of his tightly shut eyes.

“It might help combat infection.” Francis soothed.

“My condition must be far worse than I imagined if you’ve descended to care for me so...” Thomas wept smiling gratefully at Francis. “I promise you I shan’t die, sir. I will not die. I hate death... I’ll fight it with everything I’ve got, sir... I'll be on the mend in no time.” His prayers faded into a tired mutter and the cloak of exhaustion pulled him back to slumber.

“I know, Lieutenant... you did well... you did so well, son. You sleep now.” Francis sobbed.

THE END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about how sad and melodramatic these last two chapters have been. And if you're a JopLittle fan sorry I just made your two sweet boys have a big row but really the only clear interaction they have in the series is this argument over leaving the sick behind and their personalities just seem like they'd butt heads a lot to me.
> 
> Thank you for reading all the way through this fic! Love you!


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